


The Exception or The Rule

by BabelTongue



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Dorian as a functioning alcoholic, Excessive pig mentions, Extreme slow burn, Felix dies thats why the archive warning is there, M/M, Slow Burn, no one else dies dont worry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-05-17 08:38:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5861899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabelTongue/pseuds/BabelTongue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian's some rich graduate student with a fiancee he doesn't want and a dying best friend. Lavellan is the douchebag in his Greek Myth class who runs the best damn D&D night every Friday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Re:re:re: Too Soon For Dress Fittings?

If someone had asked “Why have you been taking classes for six damn years, Dorian?” His first response would be “Because school is fun and I love learning.” Dorian would then choke that response before it even had a chance to reach his throat, reevaluate how high his chances were of getting laid again in his life if those words actually left his mouth, and what the benefits were of looking like the douchebag that was balls-deep in love with The Institution. The answers were ‘lower than he could bank on’ and ‘few to none’, respectively.

His second, actual response would be something closer to “Pity, mostly. Can you imagine the sort of PR disaster this campus would go through if they didn’t have me flaunting around? Why, my wily charms are the only thing keeping this school from becoming another _Brown_ .’ It was a shame no one ever actually asked him the question though, because Dorian thought his response would be pretty clever. _Too bad_ , he thought, _that no one gives a shit about your academic career aside from your professors. Or your dad._

-

He was laying in bed and, according to the alarm screaming right next to his ear, it was _exactly_ too early for this bullshit.  Which was to say it was 9AM. Dorian had made the incorrect assumption that, unlike 18th century Russian serfs, he was above rising before the sun- Never mind the fact that the sun had been parading its happy ass across the sky for the better part of four hours. This was death. This is what death felt like. It was no consolation that for the past six years Dorian had been crafting his schedule with such mastery that he never had to be out of bed before noon. But this, this discussion class, it would be his downfall.

The alarm was still screaming.

Dorian felt like screaming with it. He didn’t because he was civilized, but _still._

With the enthusiasm of a reanimated corpse he rolled over and slammed a hand onto the snooze button. It really was a shame that he was expected to function under any capacity- Especially if that capacity dictated he rise with the roosters and crows and all the other homely bullshit that existed in fairytales and homestead novels. _An exaggeration? Sure. An exaggeration exceeding several hours and fictional genres? Even better._

This class, this discussion class, it wasn’t actually set to start for another two hours. At least, he assumed it was going to start in two hours. Possibly. _Maybe?_ Dorian was unsure at this point which added a nice layer of bitterness to the bitterness cake. (A terrible breakfast. He would have preferred burnt toast.) The problem at hand was that this week, the first week of the semester, Dorian was scheduled to lead the discussion section for a political science class on Monday. The lecture, however, wasn’t going to happen until Wednesday. It left him in a weird spot. _A rock and a hard place, but much less dire. Maybe academia and a pillow._ Was he meant to run a discussion pre-lecture? Probably not? But what if freshmen showed up? What if they waddled their post-pubescent hopes and dreams into room 0021 and Dorian was absent? The disappointment!

But on the other end of the spectrum, the sleep!

The sleep.

The sleep was a fine choice. A little act of laziness would be a perfectly acceptable way to start the school year.

Dorian rolled over, cocooning himself in comforters and silk sheets and-

The alarm began screaming again.

 _Right. Alright._ A convincing argument. _Responsibility._ He was _a responsible adult._

Dorian turned the machine off and sat up, letting the layers of blankets pool at his waist as he ran through his agenda for the day.

First, coffee, the most important meal of the day.

Second, Schrodinger's Class: The poli-sci discussion that may or may not actually take place.

Third, an actual class, granted it was one he didn’t actually need. Greek Myth 6-something-or-other. It was an undergraduate class but who the hell was going to stop him from learning as much as he damn well pleased about masculinity and culture in ancient narratives? Not the university. That was for damn sure.

Next, lunch with Felix.

Then some other class he had forgone memorizing the name of.

The rest of the day was a bit fuzzy. It probably involved thesis writing and research and all that wonderful jazz.

Then, in a _miraculous reprieve_ , dinner with Felix.

Afterwards, wine with Felix.

Maybe somewhere in there he would throw in an email or text to his fiancée before his mother asked for an update- But barring that unfortunate detour the rest of the day seemed like a decent enough kickoff to the school year.

-

There was a queer little coffee shop called The Bourgeois Pig that sat between the border of the campus and the pitiful excuse for a ‘downtown’. It was queer in the sense that a cup of black coffee cost nine dollars plus tax and Dorian couldn’t tell if the name of the shop was ironic or unironic but completely unaware of itself. Or maybe it was just an elaborate installation created by a few contemporary artists that developed a committed following. He guessed that it didn’t exactly matter because the coffee was damn good and there was a man who worked the register on weekday mornings and afternoons that Dorian could actually stand to look at. A blond. Typical. His name tag read Michel De Chevin and Dorian didn’t have a clue if it was his real name or an extension of the whole French _atmosphere_ The Bourgeois Pig seemed to bleed. Either way, he was happy to see Michel hadn’t disappeared over the summer and left the business to flounder. Dorian was convinced the whole establishment would turn tits up without their faithful cashier- Which was not true. Not even slightly, but he was a romantic in that insignificant sort of way.

“What’ll it be, Dorian?” Michel asked as Dorian, bent at the waist, surveyed the surprisingly diverse selection of stale muffins and bagels behind the display case.

“First name basis are we now? Should I be flattered that you remember?”

“Probably not. You’re only the exception because of the mustache. It’s hard to miss.”

“Ah. Good. Wouldn’t want anyone to think you were the friendly sort.”

“Never.”

“Vanilla macchiato. Skim. Extra shot. Extra soy whip. Sugar free.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes. An ice cube, please. It cools it off faster.”

“A single ice cube?”

“A single ice cube.”

-

As soon as Dorian was safely back in his car, _a Bentley thank you very much_ , he took the lid off his coffee ($15.28), pulled a flask out of his bag, and poured a few shots of Kahlua over the whip. A day wasn’t worth starting unless it started with a bracing smack of alcohol. _A good motto for life,_ he thought to himself, before tipping the flask once into his mouth for good measure and then quickly screwing the cap back on.

-

Exactly 52 minutes later Dorian was sitting on a stool in front of three rows of empty desks. The classroom smelled faintly of mold and the walls and ceiling seemed to crowd over his shoulder like some sort of inanimate helicopter parent- That was to say the room was god-awfully small. And uncomfortable. And crammed in the basement of the Humanities building, which was a disaster in itself (Dorian was absolutely convinced the Humanities building was just a parking garage the school had scrapped for a few emergency offices and classrooms. The damn thing _looked_ like a parking garage from the outside And the inside. It was a wonder no one had driven a car into some unsuspecting study group.)

In the corner of the room there was a single poster of a high resolution photograph of a piglet. There was a recycling symbol superimposed over the top of the poor thing’s face and the top line of the poster’s text read “Let’s all try,” the bottom, “To keep it in the sty.”

Cute.

Dorian’s coffee was long gone and a comfortable warmth had spread across his cheeks. The edges of his vision has just began to hum but not enough to make the sitting and waiting any more bearable than it would have been while not-tipsy. Sitting and waiting he had been doing for, oh, what? A half hour now? Half an hour where not a single malleable mind had decided to pay his pitiful ass a visit- except Recycling Pig. Recycling Pig was perfectly fine company, but it was not one of his students.

His original prediction had been correct. Even his freshman protegee were not naive enough to show up- Which made him question exactly why he was doing this in the first place.

“Mr. Pavus!” The administration had begged “You beautiful bastard! You saucy, stormcloud of a man!  You morning and evening star! You sexy, sexy beast! We need your charm and wit to keep these unwanted and rowdy freshman on task! Why, you are the only thing keeping these pitiful future politicians from dropping out of school and abandoning their family. It’s you- The catalyst! Please, Dorian. Please lead the Monday morning discussion class or risk ruining an entire generation of governors and mayors and the like.”

“Oh! I mustn't So early on a Monday morning? Having to look on this jewel of a face? Surely none of them will be able to concentrate. We can’t have that!”

“Please Mr. Pavus,” They yelled, throwing themselves at his feet, weeping. “We know you’re astounding physique and well-chiseled jaw can distract even the most hardened of scholars, but we’re at our wits end- If you don’t step up to the task we may be forced to cancel the class- And where will that lead us? Must we demolish the entire poli-sci department? Must we?”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Dorian scoffed, staring at his nails to make sure his cuticles were in order, “If I must, I suppose I will- for the good of the school.”

“Dorian, you absolute saint! You martyr!”

“I am, aren’t I?”

He  would have loved living in that version of reality, however the version of reality that lent itself towards truth was that Dorian needed to TA for at least one class this semester or risk never having the motivation to finish graduate school at all. If he didn’t try to kick his own ass into gear he could very well see himself wandering the campus forever, taking bullshit classes with the purest, most genuine sort of curiosity. Actually, that was a good life plan. Dorian could stand to live like that- He suspected, however, that his parents would not and that their funding would cut off somewhere around year eight- Year nine if he played his cards right and married The Girl. 

_Livia, beautiful, malicious, viper-of-a-thing, the damn arrangement is always hanging over our head, isn’t it?_

But maybe it was best to think of kinder things. The Girl was a problem for Future Dorian. Domesticity was a problem for Future Dorian. Finding a damn way out of the whole thing was a problem for Future Dorian. School? That was a problem for Present Dorian and it was one he could actually deal with- And usually without Grey Goose. Usually.

He glanced up at the red numbers blinking just above the door.

11:30.

His students weren't coming because they were intelligent. Good. Maybe this semester would work out well for everyone.

-

His next class was uneventful- A small thing. There were ten of them in total all swept into a lecture hall meant to seat 700. The professor was a puppy of a man, but Dorian could respect his enthusiasm, even while calling roll.

“Harding?”

A petite woman sitting a few rows ahead of Dorian barked “Yes sir,” without looking up from her syllabus. Her hair was piled into a neat bun that would have looked disheveled if any one hair was misplaced. Disheveled wouldn’t have been too terribly awful on her though, Dorian decided. Then again, he could only see the back of her head so who the hell was he to judge?

“Lavellan?”

A man sitting right next to Harding said nothing, but raised a hand. There was something wrapped around his wrist that crept up towards his fingers that caught Dorian’s attention- Black fabric? The newest type of glove? A bold fashion statement? _Wait, no, it’s just a wrist brace. Plenty of people wear those._

“Rolfsen?”

A single grunt erupted an absolute giant of a man sitting directly behind Dorian.

“Guldsdotten?”

“Pavus?”

“Amell?”

There were others of course, and a spiel by the professor, but Dorian decided that paying attention to something as trivial as syllabus week was, well, trivial, and he filled the rest of the lecture by perfecting a detailed sketch of a python draping itself over the Disabilities Policy.

-

Several hours later he found himself in a library with his feet kicked up onto a table and a book spread across his lap. It was a position he had refined over years of absolute boredom or unwillingness to visit anywhere else on campus. Heels planted in wood. Knees bent just enough to hold, say, a 400 page novel. Chair angled exactly 34.5 degrees from the floor. Shoulder dropped low enough as to not obstruct the precious few drops of light from the dying bulbs.

Perfect.

Today’s shit-session was a focus on French poetry.   _Fleurs du Mal-_ It is just the _perfect level of pretentious_ , Dorian thought, even though he barely knew a word of the language and most of his retention was just guesswork at this point. He recognized the words “love”, “cheese”, and “whore”, which, as far as Dorian knew, accurately summed up the entirety of European culture in the 1800s. The library at this time was practically abandoned, or at least the lowest level of the library was. The basement of the building usually remained unoccupied save one or two wanderers who never doted long. Stacks and stacks of long outdated encyclopedias filled the dimly lit room and the central air only kicked on when commanded by some celestial being or another. No mechanic or electrician could keep the atmosphere from growing stale unless they were sending their prayers to the right gods. There was a peculiar taste in the air that smelled like water running over rust and clung to skin like sweat. It sat on Dorian’s tongue and wove itself into his clothing. _Like old paper. Like termite shit._

Dorian’s phone, which had been sitting on the table, suddenly vibrated, pulling him out of his faux poetry analysis.

 **[15:09 From: Prince Charming]** **dorian.**

 **[15:09 From: Prince Charmin** **g] dor.**

 **[15:09 From: Prince Charmi** **ng] pavus.**

**[15:10 From: Prince Charming] hey pavlov you better be at the library.**

Dorian cursed his own predictability for a half-moment before justifying Felix’s texts as the intuition of a dear friend.

 **[15:10 To: Prince Charming]** I am at the library actually. Ten points.

**[15:11 From: Prince Charming] christ. you ever change your routine?**

Nevermind. This was just predictability.

 **[15:11 To: Prince Charming]** Not once in six years, darling.

**[15:12 From: Prince Charming] i admire the sisyphus complex you wild fucking animal. you party beast.**

**[15:12 From: Prince Charming] dont move btw. im parking outside the library rn. brt.**

**[15:13 To: Prince Charming]** Felix! Were you texting and driving?

There was no response but within two minutes Felix was down the stairs and weaving through the stacks until he reached Dorian, secluded and growing cobwebs in his own piece of rusted paradise. There was a brown paper bag in Felix’s hand and and as soon as he reached the table he unceremoniously dumped it into Dorian’s lap. Felix never failed to deliver- The problem was that his delivery was dickish.

The bag was full of soup.

“Careful Watch the book!” Dorian hissed, lifting the bag with both hands before any broth soaked through the paper. He set it on the table as Felix took a seat across from him.

“Were you worried about the book or your pants?” Felix jabbed, obviously mocking Dorian’s decision to wear white wool pants when it was nearly hot enough to boil water outside. Not that Dorian minded the heat at all. He loved it actually.

“I can be worried about both.” Dorian began pulling the cardboard bowls from the bag, passing one across the table and keeping one for himself. “Besides, at least I actually care about what I’m wearing. We can’t all be slobs in sweatpants.” He gestured towards Felix with his spoon, giving him a once over. Today Felix’s sweatpants actually matched his T-shirt. They were both a shade of ugly, heavy grey. Dorian couldn’t decide if that was better or worse than usual.

“Listen sweetheart,” Felix was already shoveling broccoli cheddar sludge into his mouth, “I know you’re just dying to see me all dolled up one of these days, but I only have one suit and I’m saving it for a special occasion.”

“Don’t say that special occasion is your funer-”

“The special occasion is my funeral.” The statement was punctuated with a laugh but Felix attempted to hide it by shoving more food in his mouth. It didn’t work. Some of his soup splattered across the table. They both looked at the orange droplets in disgust.

“You’re the absolute worse person I know.” Dorian began wiping down the table lest his standing with the library be put in jeopardy.

“Flatterer.”

“Are we still on for dinner and boozing tonight?”

“When are we not?”

“Fantastic argument.”

* * *

 

**[TO: livherathinos@gmail.com, Liv Herathimos**

**CC: aquaticpavus@yahoo.com, Aquinea Thalrassian-Pavus**

**SUBJECT: Re:re:re: too soon for dress fittings]**

Dearest Livia,

Yes, I received your last email. My mother still is doing well, thank you. I thought you would already know that considering your correspondences with her are much more frequent than mine. 

I’m not sure how to feel about your suggestion of white lilies. Don’t you think that’s a bit morbid for a wedding? Even so, don’t you think it’s a tad too early to be making appointments with florists? We have all the time in the world, don’t we, darling?

Yes, red and white wine are fine, but I would prefer we not serve any sort of green or black tea as you suggested. I’m deathly allergic and I’m sure you don’t want your husband dropping at the reception. I’m positive that I’ve told you about the allergy several times. Seven times, in fact. I’ve been counting. You could endeavour to conceal your disdain for me, but we both know that probably isn’t going to happen.

 _Faithfully_ Yours,

Dorian Pavus


	2. Like a Fine Shag Carpet

**[09:03 From: Prince Charming]** **wakey wakey eggs and suffering.**

-

 **[09:15 From: Prince Charming]** **hey wake up actually.**

**[09:15 From: Prince Charming] we got shit to do today.**

-

 **[09:20 From: Prince Charming]** **you're the worst.**

-

 **[10:46 From: Prince Charming]** **dorian are you fucking**

**[10:46 From: Prince Charming] are you fucking kidding me.**

**[10:47 From: Prince Charming] we have bucket list shit.**

-

 **[11:56 From: Prince Charming]** **i hate you.**

-

 **[12:11 From: Prince Charming]** **“hey dorian do you turn on your ringer before going to bed at night?”**

**[12:12 From: Prince Charming] “no felix i surely do not. that would be too logical, especially if anyone needs to contact me while I FALL INTO AN ETERNAL SLUMBER LIKE SOME FUCKING ELDER GOD.”**

**[12:12 From: Prince Charming] “ah, right again. thank you, friend.”**

-

 **[13:01 From: Prince Charming]** **at this point im not even mad. im just impressed you slept this long.**

-

 **[13:10 From: Prince Charming]** **nevermind. that was a lie. i am still mad.**

-

 **[13:55 To: Prince Charming]** Yes. Hello.

 **[13:56 To: Prince Charming]** The Elder God has awoken.

 **[13:56 To: Prince Charming]** Is “awoken” the correct form?

 **[13:56 To: Prince Charming]** It feels weird saying it out loud but it’s the only form of ‘awake’ that makes sense.

 **[13:58 To: Prince Charming]** Oh, fuck me. I think the housekeeper heard me repeating “The Elder God has awoken” a few dozen times..

 **[13:59 To: Prince Charming]** That’s not occultish. Not at all.

 **[14:01 From: Prince Charming** ] **hey. try not to scare jana.**

 **[14:02 From Prince Charming]** **i know you cant help with the whole ‘rich intimidating cunt’ thing you got going on,**

**[14:02 From Prince Charming] but dont make it worse by making her think you worship the devil.**

**[14:03 From: Prince Charming] also,**

**[14:03 From: Prince Charming] good FUCKING morning.**

**[14:03 From: Prince Charming] welcome to the land of the living you worthless sack of shit.**

**[14:04 To: Prince Charming]** Thank you.

 **[14:04 To: Prince Charming]** And don’t twist your panties in a bunch.

 **[14:05 To: Prince Charming]** Plenty of people sleep in on the weekends.

 **[14:05 From: Prince Charming]** **and plenty of people dont have an expiration dates. lesgo.**

 **[14:06 To: Prince Charming]** …

 **[14:06 To: Prince Charming]** That’s unfair.

 **[14:06 From: Prince Charming]** **heh.**

**[14:07 From: Prince Charming] now get up. i’ll be there in 20.**

**[14:07 To: Prince Charming]** Wait.

 **[14:07 To: Prince Charming]** Wait. What are you planning?

 **[14:07 From: Prince Charming]** **ahahahaha.**

**[14:08 From: Prince Charming] nope. you don’t get to know.**

**[14:08 From: Prince Charming] you lose all preemptive warnings for bucket list shit day when you wallow in bed like a hungover teenager.**

**[14:10 From: Prince Charming] oh shit wait i forgot,**

**[14:11 From: Prince Charming] you ARE a hungover teenager.**

**[14:11 To: Prince Charming]** I have not been a teenager in over five proud, proud years. Thank god.

 **[14:11 To: Prince Charming]** Hashtag “Blessed”

 **[14:12 To: Prince Charming]** Hashtag “Desi Boys Age Best”

 **[14:12 To: Prince Charming]** Hashtag “24 or Bust”

 **[14:12 To: Prince Charming]** Hashtag “Like A Finely Aged Wine”

 **[14:13 From: Prince Charming]** **okay listen you really really REALLY need to stop typing out the fucking word hashtag. whatever aesthetic style youre trying to go for there just,**

**[14:14 From: Prince Charming] just know that it doesnt fucking work.**

**[14:14 From: Prince Charming] just use the symbol**

**[14:14 From: Prince Charming] #**

**[14:15 From: Prince Charming] like a normal person.**

**[14:15 From: Prince Charming] and keep it on twitter**

**[14:16 To: Prince Charming]** Hashtag “What Was That?”

 **[14:16 To: Prince Charming]** Hashtag “Social Media Gatekeeping? In My Inbox?”

 **[14:17 To: Prince Charming]** Hashtag “Felix Alexius, Student Most Recently Expelled From Buzzkill University”

 **[14:18 To: Prince Charming]** Hashtag “Not Afraid To Duel Over The Integrity Of Social Media Profile Aesthetics”

 **[14:19 From: Prince Charming]** **i,**

**[14:19 From: Prince Charming] i just stared into the abyss and the abyss stared back.**

**[14:19 To: Prince Charming]** Hashtag “Felix Alexius, World’s Most Sought After Philosopher And Poet (?)”

 **[14:21 From: Prince Charming]** **fuck yourself, honey.**

 **[14:21 To: Prince Charming]** Ever the sweet talker.

 **[14:21 To: Prince Charming]** I want you to know that I’m blowing a gentle, early morning kiss in the direction of your house.

 **[14:22 To: Prince Charming]** Make sure you catch it.

 **[14:22 From: Prince Charming]** **mm. thats some grade A gooey bullshit right there.**

**[14:23 From: Prince Charming] i might have fallen for it if i was anywhere near the direction of my house.**

**[14:23 From: Prince Charming] like, as in, im currently driving to your place.**

**[14:23 From: Prince Charming] you do realize im going to be there in like, 5 minutes, right?**

**[14:24 From: Prince Charming] i can literally see your neighborhood.**

**[14:24 To: Prince Charming]** What!?

 **[14:24 To: Prince Charming]** I’m not even out of bed.

 **[14:24 From: Prince Charming]** **i gave you a 20 minute warning.**

 **[14:25 To: Prince Charming]** You know it takes me at least an hour to get ready and-

 **[14:25 To: Prince Charming]** Felix! You are a fucking abhorable EXCUSE FOR AN ADULT!

 **[14:25 To: Prince Charming]** For the love of everything ON THIS GREEN EARTH, STOP TEXTING AND DRIVING!

-

Apparently ‘bucket shit list’ was code for ‘Shit Felix’s Dad Never Let Him Do As A Child.’ or ‘Felix Living Out His Dream To Become The Ultimate Form Of  White Trash. The King. The Boss Battle.’ Not that this was an entirely new concept to Dorian. Their most recent adventure in Bucket List Hell had been freeing a coop of chickens on the edge of town in the middle of the night. (While homemade PETA shirts. “Free the chicks”. Felix’s idea. Dorian had reluctantly accepted his fate.) The previous shit-scapade had been a marathon of _Doom, Doom II: Hell on Earth,_ and _Tony Hawke’s American Wasteland_ for, stated with zero exaggeration, forty-five hours straight (Again while PETA t-shirts for no justifiable reason. At that point it may have just been a uniform signifying their bizarre, devolved friendship.) Luckily, they had the assistance of enough amphetamines and caffeine to kill a full grown elephant. And alcohol. Alcohol was _always_ thrown into the mix and they both knew, sure as shit, that it was not benefiting Felix’s health, but, as Felix had so eloquently told his father “Dad, my goal is to die in a drunken stupor surrounded by an army of Princess Leia clones feeding me grapes and oiling me down like a Turkish wrestler. Also, I want all the Leias dressed in the Tatooine slave outfits- That part is the most important. But, unfortunately, since the whole clone industry is still several years from taking off and another several decades from being regulated the Organa harem is out of the question. So is the oiling. Sadly. It’s just not practical in an end-of-life situation. I mean, who’s going to oil me up? The nurses? The CNAs? Are the pediatric surgeons going to run baby oil across my back like the climax of one of those shitty harlequin novels? Hm? No. They only do that for coma patients anyway, the ungrateful assholes. And!- And, on top of all that bureaucratic bull, they won’t let me take wine into the hospital. Or liquor. Or beer. Stingy bastards, thinking they know what’s best for my health. So anyway, father, as I was saying, let me find peace in these precious few years I have left by getting completely shitfaced whenever I damn well please. My goal is three blackouts per week, maybe four, before they decided to lock me up for good. It would be downright cruel of you to try and guilt me out of one of my few, last wishes, don’t you think? Now, before I forget, I wanted to apologize for throwing up all over your bathroom when you invited me over for breakfast this morning. I was hungover.”

Then there was one of the more memorable, ill-fated days of bucket-listing when The Inseparable Pair,  inebriated past the point of being legal, decided to each get corresponding tattoos. Not matching, but each man let the other pick the tattoo they would get. On their skin- _In_ their skin. Permanently. _Forever._  

Dorian’s design was decent enough; A snake, a Burmese python actually, one that looked like the albino pet Dorian kept in a huge aquarium that took up an entire wall of his bedroom. Gaspard was the python’s name. _A strong name,_ Dorian had always explained to anyone who asked or who had shot him a questioning look over the tame, blandly European, name.

When Felix saw the rough sketch of the design he rolled his eyes and told Dorian how huge Gaspard’s ego would grow once the snake caught wind he that was intimidating enough to receive the honor of being permanently etched into Felix’s skin.

“He might get jealous,” Felix had told Dorian as a buzzing tattoo machine worked away at Felix’s upper arm. “‘l’ll walk into your room one of these days, no sleeves or anything, and Gaspard will see it. He’ll think he’s got competition.”

“That’s not possible,” Dorian answered, holding Felix’s free hand as he winced with every new line and pattern. “Snakes don’t get jealous. They get scared and hungry and horny, sort of. Reptiles can get _weird_ about mating so it’s not the same sort of arousal.”

“Mhm. Oh baby. Tell me more about snake boning.”

The tattoo artist looked up from her work for a split-second and glanced back and forth between the pair.

Dorian, ignoring her, pulled his hand from Felix’s, fully prepared to start gesturing wildly while explaining the intricacies of snake dick.  “I have a lecture prepared if you’d like. You should be honored to receive an offer like that from me, a living, breathing instructor of reptilian sex ed.”

_How far down the rabbit hole could they travel? Pretty damn far._

“Right. Go for it,” Felix told him, leaning his head back against the chair and closing his eyes (Still wincing).

“Alright, lesson one. The first thing you need to know about snake reproduction is that male snakes have two penises-”

“Actually, you know what? I changed my mind. I don’t want to know. I value Gaspard as a dear friend and intruding on his bedroom business is unworthy of me. I wouldn’t want to break his trust.”

“Snakes have no concept of trust.”

“Fine. I don’t want to betray his comforting, strangle-y love.”

“Snakes don’t feel love.”

“Damn Dorian, way to throw an entire suborder of animals under the bus. They’re trying to work through their emotional issues and you just start insulting their ability to properly express their feelings. For fucking shame, man. Gaspard deserves a better life partner- One who understands his emotional needs. I’d get pretty pissy if _I_ was forced to slither the Earth while people screamed ‘Ew! Ah! Kill it!’ whenever they saw me just because I didn’t have legs. Or arms. And I was venomous. Yeah. I’d be _pretty damn bitter too._ ” The pained smile that was plastered across Felix’s face at the beginning of his rant had quickly grown into exaggerated frown as he began making more and more fervent declarations of love for Dorian’s snake. The artist stopped again, pleading with her eyes for Felix to shut the fuck up.

He did.

The final product was better than anything Dorian could have dreamed up in a drunken sketch. The snake curling around Felix’s left arm was tightly coiled, like a thick spring that left no gaps between scales and skin. In a rather bizarre art style, Dorian noticed, the linework for Felix’s tattoo was not so much one thick trail as it was a dozen wild lines all aiming for the right direction- _Like a sketch,_ he thought. The coloring, on the other side of the spectrum, was frighteningly realistic. While it would have _logistically_ made sense for the two styles to look disgusting mashed together, it didn’t, and both Felix and Dorian were impressed.

The final piece of the tattoo was a short sentence. Or a phrase, rather- As unused as it was in English, it was still Dorian’s choice and he was flexing that power to it’s full extent.

The phrase only consisted of a few words in a calligraphic, wispy print that curled into Felix’s arm just below the bottom coil of the snake.

“బ్రదర్స్ ప్రతి ఇతర ఒంటరిగా కృష్ణ తిరుగు వీలు లేదు.”

The words were in Telugu, a language that Felix would have difficulty translating and one Dorian only had the most strained connection to. Distant relatives spoke it, grandparents and the like, but the point stood that the script was prettier than anything Germanic or Romantic.

When it actually came time for the pair to switch responsibilities Felix wasn’t nearly as merciful as his partner and Dorian was fully aware of that fact _. Fuck. See, this is what happens when you trust a guy who doesn’t suffer long-term consequences._ It took a solid two hours and a threat to break off their friendship entirely for Felix to convince Dorian to stick with their pact  and sit on the artist’s chair- Or rather lay on it once it was reclined into a table-

Oh his stomach.

With his pants down.

It was the Tasmanian Devil.

 _The_ one _. Taz_.

Dorian, who had put what he thought was a disgusting amount of sentiment into Felix’s design had the cartoon tasmanian devil from _fucking Loony Toons_ tattooed on his ass.

For several days after the tattoo incident Dorian refused all texts, calls, and messages from Felix- But by the time it not longer hurt for Dorian to sit down, they were on the same wavelength again.

-

Even with all the their sleazy  exploits,  this one had to take the prize when it came to trashy rebellion. Dorian found himself standing on an overpass next to Felix, overlooking a freeway. It was the middle of the afternoon, blazing hot, and perfect weather for PETA shirts and basketball shorts (Felix’s request. Mostly to fuck with Dorian but also because it was also hotter than the devil’s dick outside.)  Dorian had gone along with the wardrobe choice because could he really deny the simple, simple request of an ailing friend? Felix knew the answer was _‘no’, ‘nope’_ , and _‘not at fucking all_ ’ because Dorian was as good as wet clay in the hands of someone who knew him well enough- a list of which was comprised of two, maybe three people. The theory had been proven with an ass tattoo.

Dorian’s arms were full of bottles of ketchup and mustard. The expensive kind, with seeds and extra carbs and some sort of probiotic formula. There was the kind with lacy writing across the label that spelled djorn in such long, swooping letters that they were impossible to read.  No trans fats. Gluten free. Amazing.

Felix was several feet away and partially bent over the concrete barrier that was keeping him from falling into the stream of cars below. He was screaming. And shirtless. And his hair, as short and fine as it had been cut,  flattened itself against the back of his head like he had just rolled out of bed, which, as they both knew, could not be more untrue.  

After several minutes the screaming changed from vague obscenities to an actual vocative address. “Dorian! Hand me the ketchup. I see a convertible. “

Felix looked as though he was about to vault over the side of the overpass and plunge to a death worthy of a very brave raccoon.

It wasn’t the worst way to go. A bit messy though.

Dorian obliged and tossed him a bottle of ketchup. The bottle was even made of glass- Like something found in a 1950s diner. It was a worthy relic for The Trash Prince- His shining star.

Felix uncapped the bottle, tossed the lid into traffic like the sinnful litterer he was, and emptied the bottle with eerie precision right into a blue Corvette as it passed beneath the bridge. The middle-aged couple sitting in the car were painted in red and dorian could have swore he heard screaming as the car sped away with the flow of traffic.

“I can’t wait to get arrested”  Deadpan, Dorian watched as Felix threw the empty bottle into traffic. The sound of shattering glass was quickly followed by someone laying on their horn for a solid 15 seconds, uninterrupted. Beautiful.

Every moment a symphony.

This was worse than almost everything they had done so far, including the tattoos.

“Yeah, because a Pavus can’t pay bail for, what? Nothing? Nothing- Because this isn’t illegal.” Felix grabbed another bottle out of Dorian’s hands, “What could they throw at us, even? Assault? Is someone going to accuse us of viciously attacking them from 30 feet in the air? Us? Pitiful, fetal flesh bags assaulting two tons of metal- _Shit they should just send us to the chair now. We’re too dangerous to be kept alive in the system.”_

“I was thinking destruction of property or something like that. The law is weird in any case, but I don’t think that Corvette is going to get clean anytime in the near future. _” Or far future. Or Ever. The upholstery had been a rather angelic white_. “Anyway, some of us have to worry about the consequences of our actions.”

“Ha! You can’t guilt me, Pavus. You _cannot_ fucking guilt me. We’re staying here until I’ve liberated $300 worth of condiments. No exceptions. I don’t give two shits if we’re arrested.”

“But Felix,” Dorian began, lining up each container along the concrete barrier like a collection of feral cats all gathered on a fence. “Don’t you know? I’m too pretty for prison.”

“That you are, you beautiful fucking bastard.” Felix then uncapped the bottle in his hand before deciding _‘Actually, fuck it_ ,’ and lobbing is as far as he possibly could- The mustard was a damn grenade in Felix’s hand and this was war.

More honking. Some yelling. It died out just as quickly as it began.

“So, how’s it going with Livia?”

“Pardon?” Dorian looked up from the label of a jar of horseradish he had been worrying away at after the small lull in their conversation. Over the roar of the traffic the two needed to practically scream to hear each other.

“Your wife? Future wife? You know the one.”

“Oh! That bullshit.” He set the jar down next to the others and turned to lean his hip against the barrier. “Well, it’s going. We’ve gotten to the point of discussing flowers and catering. Nit-picky shit. I’m still convinced her mother is actually the one making arrangements, though. Livia is just a front.”

“A front for marrying your potential mother-in-law? Kinky.”

“Mhm. I live for danger”

“Stop throwing ketchup at people. I’m too pretty for prison,’ Quote Dorian Pavus, less than two minutes ago.”

“Touche.”

“Oui oui. Hon hon,” Felix took a step towards his friend, knocking two bottles off the edge in the process, purely for the shits and giggles “But be real with me. Is it going to happen? Anytime soon at least?”

The urgency in Felix’s voice was well masked, but then again, they had both known each other for twenty years and Dorian could read Felix like a book at this point. A children’s book. With bright pictures and a ninety point font. Possibly in Comic Sans.

No, strike that, felix was a Helvetica type of man-

A Helvetica type man that didn’t want to forgo the opportunity to be his closest friend’s best man. As the weeks of engagement had rolled into months, then into years, Felix’s body only continued to fail at the simple job of keeping all his organs in working order. For Felix time was of the essence when it came to this ceremony, especially since he genuinely _did not_ want to miss the wedding.

Pity that Dorian _did_.

Maybe they could trade places. _It would be a fair enough deal and I’d be willing to- Oh. Oh, yikes._ Lingering on that might evoke an actual, genuine sort of emotion. Dorian didn’t need those bullshit _feelings_ and _anxieties_ mucking up a finely sculpted aloofness- Or pretentiousness. _Or thoroughbred nobility and unwavering godliness._ At least, not yet. That was another problem for Future Dorian, probably.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’re there when I sign away my soul. How could I even entertain the thought of pledging away my maidenhood without a best man to jump to my rescue at the last minute? Besides, by the time we actually go through with the ceremony you’ll still  have plenty of time and strength to sweep me into your arms and rescue me from my intended, you fable of a man, you. My dashing prince. My captain of the high seas.”

Felix snorted, ”Captain? Yeah, In your dreams.”

“Mhm. Believe me, I dream- They’re the best sort of dreams too. But they usually end with you covered in Cool Whip, not you whisking me away on some fantastic adventure where there’s no such thing as responsibility or obligations.”

“Whipped cream? Huh. If that’s how they end, I’m scared to ask how they start.”

“Difficult to say. I think most of them feature dragons and sex dungeons at some point. The Pope has also made an appearance in one or two.”

“Did he join in on the whipped cream shenanigans?”

“Felix! The depravity! Of course he didn’t!” Dorian ran a hand through his hair which was now sticky with sweat and salt. “Obviously he was the one filming the whole thing.”

“Oh, of course. I forgot the Pope was an exhabitionist. Silly me.”

“They do things a bit differently in Rome I’ve heard.”

From several miles away they heard the wail of police sirens. The last few bottles were sacrificed and pushed over the edge of the highway before the pair began sprinting.

-

The second monday of the semester was, same as the first, an absolute goddamn struggle. If Dorian was a praying man he would have appealed to any and every deity for a reprise from the struggle of an 11AM Class- But he was not a praying man, so he was left to flounder and throw his alarm clock against the wall as a substitute for some sort of divine presence.

He made a note to buy a less breakable alarm clock.

-

Michel De Chevin was absent that morning when Dorian swung into The Bourgeois Pig for his ritual cup of coffee (Kahlua waiting in the car) Instead, a short woman who looked like she would have rather been anywhere on the planet in that exact moment, was mixing all varieties of lattes and teas behind the counter.

Oh, this was not right. _Not right at all._

“Where’s Michel?” Dorian asked, obviously disappointed, as he approached the counter. He had scanned the entire interior of the cafe (And glanced into the back room when one of the other baristas clocked in for the day. A certified spy, he was.) but it only confirmed his suspicions that Michel was, still, devastatingly missing.

“Change of schedule. Moved to part-time, sweetheart. Eye for him, eh?” The New Barista barked, wiping her hands on her apron. Her name tag was covered in Chiquita stickers and a few cartoon bees, all of which were obscuring her name. The only thing Dorian could make out was half an ‘S’ and maybe an ‘O’?

Dorian wasn’t entirely sure what the woman had asked him but he was looking at him expectantly. “No? But can I ask what his new schedule is?” Maybe it would still be possible to fit an extra coffee run or two into into his weekly schedule and-

“Nah.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ya can’t ask that. Sorry. Can’t give it to ya. Company policy. Well, I don’t really give a shit and’a half ‘bout company policy but I figure you won’t be tippin’ for that kinda ‘nformation.”  

“Oh-” Dorian was taken back. He pressed a palm against his chest and took a half-step away from the counter. Being denied wasn’t an experience he was intimately familiar with- As was barely being able to understand the person taking down his coffee order. It as a shocking experience all around.

“Now, were ya gonn' order?”

“Ah, yes? Vanilla macchiato. Skim. Extra shot. Extra soy whip. Sugar free.”

“Well aren’t you a right wank? ‘Thin’ else?”

“An ice cube?”

“Sorry, what?” Chiquita Stickers cocked an eyebrow and stopped scribbling the order onto his cup.  

“A single ice cube. It helps it cool off faster.”

For several seconds she said nothing and then continued scribbling, shallowly shaking her head.

-

There were two ice cubes in his coffee.

Was this a budding rivalry or just shitty customer service?

Rivalry. Dorian chose rivalry.

-

His discussion section went about as well as one would suspect herding aspiring, 18-year-old politicians would go- Which was to say they all were competent, alert, and on top of the material.  Their topic was differentiating between democratic socialism and communism, and the pros and cons of both blah blah-It was one of the blander topics of the semester. Most of the students knew exactly what they were doing though, and those who didn’t picked up quickly. Hell, Dorian could have taken role, left, and let the students run the class by themselves for as much good as his guidance was doing.

Recycling Pig watched the discussion from the corner of the room and Dorian made a mental note not to throw his empty coffee cup in the garbage.

-

 **[12:51 To: Prince Charming]** Do you think I’m capable of murder?

 **[12:51 From: Prince Charming]** **a healthy start to our conversation.**

 **[12:52 From: Prince Charming]** **whats on your mind?**

 **[12:52 To: Prince Charming]** Murder.

 **[12:52 From: Prince Charming]** **you gonna use your words like a grown adult?**

**[12:53 From: Prince Charming] or nah?**

Dorian, who was definitely _not_ sulking, and who definitely _could_ use his words, was practically staring a hole through the back of the head of another student in his Myth lecture. Class was not set to begin for another, oh, ten minutes, but most of them had wandered into the lecture hall for a half hour while they waited for their professor to show up. And this fucker- _This redheaded, brace-wearing asshole_ had committed the cardinal sin of all lecture classes.

He stole Dorian’s unassigned seat.

What was his name? _Lethallan? Leatherfetish? Leddeland?_ It didn’t matter, what mattered was that that fucker was officially on Dorian’s shit list.

 **[12:54 To: Prince Charming]** Someone claimed my territory. I feel threatened.

 **[12:54 From: Prince Charming]** **are you going to say something that makes sense, or?**

 **[12:54 To: Prince Charming]** My seat.

 **[12:55 To: Prince Charming]** Someone stole my seat in Myth.

 **[12:55 To: Prince Charming]** It was the best possible position I could have had. Seven rows back. The perfect distance that says ‘Yes, professor, this topic is a passion of mine,’ but not ‘I want to blow you for a better grade.’

 **[12:56 To: Prince Charming]** I had the entire row to myself too. I could stretch.  

 **[12:56 From: Prince Charming]** **cant you just find another row?**

 **[12:56 To: Prince Charming]** Yes, but it’s the principle of the thing.

 **[12:57 To: Prince Charming]** You don’t steal a man’s seat.

 **[12:57 To: Prince Charming]** It’s uncivilized.

 **[12:57 From: Prince Charming]** **fight barbarism with barbarism.**

**[12:57 From: Prince Charming] go piss on the seat to reclaim your territory.**

**[12:57 To: Prince Charming]** Flawless plan aside from the fact that someone is sitting in it.

 **[12:58 From: Prince Charming]** **even better. piss on them to establish dominance.**

 **[12:58 To: Prince Charming]** …No.

Dorian, as subtly as he could manage (Which was simple enough to achieve because the object of his ire was sitting several rows ahead of Dorian’s new, temporary seat.) snapped a quick photo.

 **[12:59 To: Prince Charming]** [Attached 1 Photo]

 **[12:59 To: Prince Charming]** There he is, in the flesh, Fuckboy McRudebitch IV.

 **[12:59 From: Prince Charming]** **ppppffft. is that a mohawk?**

**[13:00 From: Prince Charming] it… it really doesn’t work on him.**

**[13:00 From: Prince Charming] aside from how fucking weird mohawks look with curly hair,**

**[13:01 From: Prince Charming] that trend stopped in middle school.**

**[13:01 To: Prince Charming]** It looks like someone glued a strip of shag carpeting to his head and I am disgusted.

 **[13:02 From: Prince Charming]** **tell him to get out of your seat or you’ll threaten to tell everyone his hair is full of bird nests.**

 **[13:02 To: Prince Charming]** Ha!

 **[13:02 To: Prince Charming]** Hey, lecture’s starting. See you tonight.

 

* * *

 

**[TO: livherathinos@gmail.com, Liv Herathimos**

**CC: aquaticpavus@yahoo.com, Aquinea Thalrassian-Pavus**

**SUBJECT: Re: Location, location, location]**

Dearest Livia,

No.

No. I’m not even going to entertain the idea of an outdoor ceremony in the Alps in the middle of February. Have you considered any locations where half our guests won’t go home with frostbite?

Lovingly Yours,

Dorian Pavus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That Telugu was just translated online. If anyone is more familiar with the language and wants to correct me, please feel free.


	3. My Pigeon Diet Journal Vol. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Non-serious suicide mentions in this chapter.

There were several things Dorian was accustomed to seeing when walking down the main boulevard of the campus; A rogue bus driver who was out for blood (Mostly the blood of cyclists, but were any of them safe? No.) Fraternities with tables set up in front of the humanities building who were promoting some cause or another- Not that Dorian didn’t care, he just _didn’t care._ And sometimes in the warmer months Evangelists would stand on the sidewalk and scream about shellfish being the surest path to hell and homosexuals perishing in a lake of fire for eternity and all that that pomp and bullshit.  It was a regular circus, really.

Today, however, was not unfolding itself into anything customary- An observation that could probably be accredited to him running late (A mistake he would chastise himself later for- He probably wouldn’t but it was good for Dorian’s morale to think he would improve upon himself in some way or another.

Not that he needed improving.

(He knew he was perfect. Perfect in every way.)  

There were, in the middle of one of the heavier passing periods of the day, four campus police cars, and one actual police car parked outside of the proclaimed “-Ology’ building (Anthropology. Archaeology. Geology? Biology. All those beautiful, boring classes.) “Outside the building” meaning “Literally driven onto the sidewalk and obstructing foot traffic.” There were several young rose bushes along the side of the road that had only just been planted over the long summer break and in a rush the squad cars had destroyed four or five of them. Dirt had been trailed across the sidewalk behind the tires and the roots of the bushes were spread flat over the pavement like they had been pressed into a book. Dorian mourned briefly. They would have been beautiful in a late bloom.

It looked like the cars been parked for some time but the lights were still flashing.

One of the officers was holding a megaphone and he seemed to be the only concerned member of the party. In fact he seemed the only concerned person within a mile radius besides Dorian. Every other student on their way to class was sidestepping the police cars like this was a regular occurrence.

Wait.

 _Was this a regular occurrence?_ Dorian knew that it wasn’t uncommon to see an ambulance or two on Friday evenings because nineteen year olds didn’t know how to hold their liquor, but surely this was cause for some concern. Maybe a hint? A hair? _No? Anyone?_ Was every soul on campus so used to a small army of cops appearing in their lives that they just learned to block it out. The criminals. The scoundrels. _The working class._

The few, unconcerned officers and one very curious Dorian Pavus seemed to form an island of inactivity in the stream of students on their way to class. The other officers, the ones not holding megaphones, were all still sitting in their cars or leaning against the hoods. Their heads, Dorian did not notice until he had been standing in front of them, baffled, for at least a solid minute, were all craned up towards the roof of the “-Ology” building. Dorian turned his head to follow their gaze and-

Oh.

Oh dear.

That would explain it.

That was a person.

There was a person there.

A person who was not inside the building as tradition usually dictates when it comes to _building etiquette_ . Or the etiquette of existing- as said person was hanging off the _fucking roof_.  It wasn’t just feet kicked over the side of the building or some idiot staring down at the campus with his limbs firmly planted in brick and mortar and steel. No. This man was, in a new batshit insane tradition, hanging from the bricks like he was scaling the face of a cliff.

 _At least he looks like he knows what he’s doing,_ Dorian thought, _so he won’t fall sooner than he means to._

Because he definitely, probably intended to fall. It was the only reasonable explanation. Suicides were usually a private thing, at least Dorian assumed, but if this man wanted to go out in style and with the attention of the entire campus trained directly on him, Dorian couldn’t blame him. Who didn’t love attention?

Though that explanation would make more sense if anyone on the damn sidewalk was actually paying attention.

 **[10:45 To: Prince Charming]** I think I’m about to witness a suicide.

 **[10:45 To: Prince Charming]** The universe trying to prep me for future deaths in my life?

 **[10:45 To: Prince Charming]** I think so.

 **[10:46 To: Prince Charming]** How kind of it.

 **[10:46 From: Prince Charming]** ...

 **[10:46 From: Prince Charming]** literally what the fuck dorian

 **[10:46 From: Prince Charming]** you cant just say that. you arent allowed to put that sort of energy into the world you negative fuck.

 **[10:47 From: Prince Charming]** and wh ??

 **[10:47 From: Prince Charming]** witness a suicide??? what? ?? where are you???

 **[10:47 To: Prince Charming]** Halamshiral Hall. Some guy’s hanging off the roof.

 **[10:47 To: Prince Charming]** You think someone could survive a fall from six stories?

 **[10:48 To: Prince Charming]** [Attached One Photo]

The jumping dots that indicated “typing” flashed above the chat box for a moment. Then halted. Then began again. Ec cetera.

 **[10:49 From: Prince Charming]** damn. no. probably not.

 **[10:49 From: Prince Charming]** wait.

 **[10:49 From: Prince Charming]** wait a fucking second.

 **[10:49 From: Prince Charming]** send me a better picture. your photography skills are shit.

 **[10:49 To: Prince Charming]** Ouch.

 **[10:49 To: Prince Charming]** You’ll bruise my ego.

 **[10:50 From: Prince Charming]** good. it needs bruising. send.

 **[10:50 To: Prince Charming]** [Attached One Photo]

 **[10:51 From: Prince Charming]** dorian i think,

 **[10:51 From: Prince Charming]** i think thats the one weirdo.

 **[10:51 From: Prince Charming]** the dude that graduated last year.

 **[10:51 To: Prince Charming]** I’m not following.

 **[10:52 From: Prince Charming]** the dude???

 **[10:52 From: Prince Charming]** the weirdo. ugh. whats his fucking name???

 **[10:52 From: Prince Charming]** he’s been in the news local news like 50 fucking times for doing weird shit like this.

 **[10:52 From: Prince Charming]** its something with a c or a k

 **[10:52 From: Prince Charming]** cailan??? connor?

 **[10:53 From: Prince Charming]** cole!

 **[10:53 From: Prince Charming]** suicide bro’s name is cole.

 **[10:53 From: Prince Charming]** does any of this click?

 **[10:53 To: Prince Charming]** Not even vaguely?

 **[10:54 From: Prince Charming]** thats because you live in your own little world.

Dorian glanced up again at the man hanging off the edge of Halamshiral. He seemed content enough. No outstanding declarations of wanting this lonely, sad, blue dot to meet it’s end. No grandiose gestures meant to decry cheating exes. Felix had even said he was a local celebrity. What on earth would drive someone like that to drop off the planet in such a permanent, punctuated way? _There are people who would trade anything to live a few more years. This is just a waste, really._

The officer holding the megaphone finally decided it was time to intervene, much to the surprise of Dorian who jumped at the sound.

“Cole,” The officer growled into the megaphone with all the exhaustion of a father who has had to tell his toddler one too many times to _stay off the damn counter._ “Please come down before we call the fire department up here.”

Okay.

So this really was a regular occurrence for _everyone?_

_And this man wasn’t trying to kill himself?_

Almost on cue, Cole turned his head and shouted something towards the officers. It was a strangled shout though, like it didn’t have a right to try and be so loud after coming from such a soft spoken body.

Dorian didn’t understand a word of it.

Neither did the officers, apparently. A few of them shrugged their shoulders at each other and flat-out ignored the speaking officer’s request for some sort of clarification- As if any of them could had actually heard what Cole said.

“Listen. I don’t care what you’re doing,” The cop finally submitted after a few moments of frustrated, vigorous temple rubbing and several venomous looks thrown at coworkers.  “But I need you down here in the next five minutes or I will make sure you never step on this campus again. We clear?”

Cole was louder this time, although some of his declaration was lost to the wind.

“Pigeons.” Was the only word Dorian was able to catch. It almost sounded like an apology.

Then again, louder. “They’re young. New mothers.” The next few words were swallowed by a gush of wind until Dorian caught the last bit. “-Who else would feed them?”

_Feed who?_

It took Dorian several seconds to process and-

Feeding pigeons? This lunatic was feeding pigeons? This man had scaled six stories and had half the police force called on him because he wanted to feed a few roosting pigeons? Not to mention it was at least a cool ninety degrees outside and Cole was not dressed for the weather- He was wearing what looked to be a leather jacket and slacks. But at least he was wearing a sunhat- Dorian assumed it was a sunhat. Any hat with a brim that big didn’t have any business calling itself something different.

But where was he storing the pigeon food?

How did he know the exact locations of pigeon nests (Specifically pigeon nests that were full of recently hatched chicks?)

Was he intimately familiar with the diet of pigeons?

With their family structure?

Their feeding schedule? How did he know they weren't already getting the proper amount of food?

Was he keeping journals on each family unit of pigeons nesting in Halamshiral? Did he keep spreadsheets? Were there, somewhere in the world, dozens of Excel files saved as ‘My Pigeon Diet Journal Vol. II’?

How?

_How?_

How was this a legitimate event happening in front of Dorian’s eyes?

The police officer, after finally been given enough time to come to his own conclusions, clicked the megaphone back on. “Cole?”

“Yes?”

“Are you meaning to tell me you’re on top of that building to feed birds?”

“Yes.”

“Are you coming down soon?”

“Yes. They’re all fed.”

This couldn’t be real. This was some sort of extreme, elaborate hoax and Ashton Kutcher was ten seconds away from jumping out of a cop car with a full camera crew.

This was something straight out a fucking Parks and Rec episode.

This was something.  

 **[11:01 To: Prince Charming]** I choose to believe I woke up in a different version of reality.

 **[11:01 To: Prince Charming]** Or maybe I’m still asleep.

 **[11:02 From: Prince Charming]** yikes.

 **[11:02 From: Prince Charming]** oh shit. did he actually jump?

 **[11:02 From: Prince Charming]** i didn't think he would. he pulls bullshit stunts like this all the time.

 **[11:02 From: Prince Charming]** are you okay? are you in shock?

 **[11:02 From: Prince Charming]** do you need me to come pick you up? i can be there in 5 minutes.

 **[11:03 From: Prince Charming]** dorian? are you alright?

 **[11:03 From: Prince Charming]** i’m picking you up. i’m on my way.

 **[11:03 From: Prince Charming]** fucking dumbass. you shouldn’t have watched that. i cannot fucking believe you.

 **[11:03 To: Prince Charming]** No. Relax.

 **[11:04 To: Prince Charming]** He didn’t jump.

 **[11:04 To: Prince Charming]** He decided to free climb Shiral to feed baby pigeons?

 **[11:04 To: Prince Charming]** He gave baby pigeons food, from his hand, while hanging over 80 feet above a huge patch of skull-cracking pavement.

 **[11:05 To: Prince Charming]** I’m just having difficulty comprehending the motivation behind potentially dying over a few rats with wings.

 **[11:05 To: Prince Charming]** And quite frankly this doesn’t feel real.

 **[11:06 To: Prince Charming]** It doesn’t feel like a real situation anyone should experience outside of children’s literature.

Cole had begun making his descent much to the relief of the band of officers.

 **[11:06 From: Prince Charming]** enjoy your pigeon fueled existential crisis, shitlord.

 **[11:06 From: Prince Charming]** and congrats on being a protagonist in your very own modern day grimm tale.

 **[11:06 To: Prince Charming]** Grimm does not count as children’s literature. And I’d rather not. The heroes get thoroughly fucked through almost all adaptations of the classics. They also get fucked in the original. It’s no fun all around.

 **[11:07 From: Prince Charming]** yeah but disney though.

 **[11:08 To: Prince Charming]** Disney has not once produced any accurate Grimm adaptation.

By this time Cole had nearly retraced his ascent. He was within reach of the last two stories. Dorian, thoroughly convinced that he would look back on this situation and decide it hadn’t actually happened, turned to step around the police cruisers and continue on his path to class- A class he was now late for.

Felix kindly decided to remind him

 **[11:08 From: Prince Charming]** hey. you’re late for your discussion.

 **[11:08 From: Prince Charming]** if you don’t make it in the first 15 minutes of class your kids get a free day.

 **[11:08 From: Prince Charming]** their professor is going to be pissed. get wrecked.

 **[11:09 To: Prince Charming]** That’s a blatant, false rumor, and I’m on my way.

 **[11:10 From: Prince Charming]** t-minus 5 minutes.

 **[11:10 To: Prince Charming]** Fuck yourself.

A small pinch seemed to twist itself in Dorian’s chest when he remembered he hadn’t said a word about his class all morning. Felix had just memorized his schedule.

-

By the time Dorian was preparing to step into his Myth lecture, all thoughts of pigeon feeding and boys in leather jackets had almost entirely escaped him. Like a dream. Or a reality he refused to accept. Something else replaced it soon though- That something being poorly filtered rage.

As soon as Dorian slid into the lecture hall he spotted her. Bun girl. Short girl. Girl with the freckles.

She looked like she could probably kick Dorian’s ass despite the thirteen-plus-inch-height-difference.

She could probably kick anyone’s ass.

And she was in his seat. His old seat. His original seat. His crown jewel that was seven rows from the front. _Not too close. Not too far. Just, goddamn, right._ Dorian paused for a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose, fully aware that he was blocking at least part of the doorway. Oh well. Everyone else could eat his ass.

He knew it was probably stupid to get worked up over such a little thing. An assigned seat in an undergraduate class that he hardly even cared about (A complete lie. He probably cared too much.) This whole seating situation was a speck really. A mote of dust in the otherwise vast room of his life. But, the point stood that it was _Dorian’s mote of dust_ . This was a predestined routine and providence save whoever left a hump in his habits- Not that Dorian would confront her. _Hardon. That’s her name. Right? Right._ Instead Dorian would just spend the better part of ten minutes dragging her over text with Felix. He moved out of the doorway, glare fixed towards the back of the hall as he navigated towards the sad, temporary, second seat he had claimed the previous week. Halfway down the aisle, however, he stopped.

His second option was also occupied. By ShagCarpet BroTank. The illustrious Fuckboy McRudebitch.

It was the exact, exact same spot Dorian had set up camp last week. Out of dozens of hundreds of desks. Out of entire rows and empty fucking balcony seats, Mohawk Birdnose Fuckwad Sr. had decided to sit _there._ _There._ This was probably no longer a coincidence a small voice told him, tugging at the back of his brain. The louder, more rational voice screaming from the front of his head, however, told him to stop being a paranoid bitch and to just deal with territorial squabbles in a way that didn’t resemble a bunch of kindergartners reenacting Lord of the Flies. _You weren't raised in a fucking barn,_ He told himself turning to scout out another, less desirable location. _Deal with it._

And he did- By sitting in the row perfectly sandwiched between the theifs. Freckles was sitting two rows ahead of him, slightly to the left. Shag Carpet, two rows behind him, slightly to the right. From above they would have looked like the Orion’s Belt of salty college students. They _were_ the Orion’s Belt of salty college students.

Neither of them bothered to look at Dorian as he settled himself in which, for a hot minute, made Dorian consider whether or not they had both just made a genuine mistake and he had been an obsessive piece of human garbage, before deciding that, no, he was not a piece of human garbage and he had every right to stay lowkey pissed as long as he damn well pleased.

Who didn’t know the cardinal rule? No one except Topknot and Huckleberry, apparently.

 **[12:54 To: Prince Charming]** It happened again.

 **[12:55 From: Prince Charming]** oh no. do we need to take you planned parenthood again?

 **[12:55 From: Prince Charming]** they really should give you a stamp card at this point.

 **[12:55 To: Prince Charming]** Aha.

 **[12:55 To: Prince Charming]** You’re a regular comedic genius.

 **[12:55 To: Prince Charming]** Has anyone ever told you that you should go into comedy?

 **[12:56 From: Prince Charming]** only you, baby.

 **[12:56 From: Prince Charming]** but tell me. what happened again?

 **[12:56 To: Prince Charming]** Seat thieves.  

 **[12:56 To: Prince Charming]** There are two of them now. Am I being targeted?

 **[12:57 From: Prince Charming]** first of all youre not that special

 **[12:57 From: Prince Charming]** second of all, dorian

 **[12:57 From: Prince Charming]** as much as this pains me to tell you,

 **[12:57 From: Prince Charming]** you, sadly, only have one ass.

 **[12:58 From: Prince Charming]** how the fuck could two people steal your seat if it takes only one ass to occupy any given point in space. that point being a single desk?

 **[12:58 To: Prince Charming]** Get ready to learn.

 **[12:59 To: Prince Charming]** So Mohawk Man stole my row last week, right? Me, being the civil, diplomatic spirit I am, let it go. I find a new seat. I throw down my establishment in greener, greater pastures. I make the best out of a bad situation and I thrive in it. Like a canary. Like an ancient tortoise. I live on!

 **[12:59 To: Prince Charming]** Then today I come to class to find Mohawk Man has planted his perky ass in my new homestead. The audacity.

 **[13:00 To: Prince Charming]** Then, in a plot twist worthy of a sensational novel, I find my original claim is now occupied by a woman who, despite resembling the distant relative of a munchkin, actually looks like she can bench press me.

 **[13:00 To: Prince Charming]** At the moment I’m about 50/50 on whether or not they both planned this debacle.

Dorian, in a far less subtle manner than last class period, tapped his phone a few times before opening his front facing camera. He held it in front of his face and feigned interest in making sure the wax curls of his moustache were in their proper places. In the corner of the screen, Lavellen, sitting only a few rows behind Dorian, was hunched over a textbook that was sprawled across his thighs. He was wearing sunglasses despite the unnatural, fluorescent lighting and Dorian could catch the scent of liquor hovering like a cloud around the closest few rows. And it wasn’t Dorian’s liquor. Dorian Pavus didn’t drink cheap shit- Which is what the smell obviously was.

So Dorian took a picture. Or five.

 **[13:02 To: Prince Charming]** [Attached Three Photos]

 **[13:04 From: Prince Charming]** awh. look at our resident birdhouse. i wonder how many chicks will hatch from that mane this spring. my money’s on 30.

 **[13:04 From: Prince Charming]** shit

 **[13:04 From: Prince Charming]** he looks like he was run over by a bus actually. how quaint. how endearing.

 **[13:04 To: Prince Charming]** I think he decided to forgo the ‘Hungover in Class’ stage and just jumped straight into ‘Coming to Class Hammered to Avoid Said Hangover.’

 **[13:05 From: Prince Charming]** you can’t judge. you go to class hammered all the time.

 **[13:05 To: Prince Charming]** Yes, but I do a better job of hiding it.

 

* * *

 

**[TO: livherathinos@gmail.com, Liv Herathimos**

**CC: aquaticpavus@yahoo.com, Aquinea Thalrassian-Pavus**

**SUBJECT: Ten stores? Really?]**

 

Dearest Livia,

Considering our combined net worth in a few months will be high enough to purchase half the state, I feel like wedding registries may be in bad taste.

It just seems excessive.

 

Yours, Always,

Dorian Pavus


	4. Snow White and the Seven Fucks

“How does the saying go? Once the possible options have been eliminated, the impossible option is the answer? Right?”

Dorian was drunk. Not smashed beyond recognition, but definitely past the point of being _just_ comfortably tipsy. It was somewhere in the middle- somewhere between three quarters of a bottle of wine and three handles of shitty vodka- Luckily he had a high enough tolerance to make doctors gasp “Holy _shit”_ if he ever answered the question “How many drinks do you have a week?” honestly.

The answer was too many, probably.

He was spread across Felix’s couch and his head was propped up against the arm, giving him an attractive double and triple chin. A laptop sat on his chest, obscuring his view of Felix who was sitting at the other end of the sofa with Dorian’s feet in his lap. _Project Runway_ was playing on the T.V and there were two half-empty glasses of red wine on the coffee table.

“Once you’ve eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth?”

Felix didn’t look away from the T.V as he answered, knowing full well where the conversation was going. The two men were in the middle of an argument that had been growing and fading for years- One Dorian could never just _let go._

“Yes! Exactly!” Dorian lifted his head briefly to glance at Felix over the laptop screen- For once Felix was actually playing along in this debate and Dorian wasn’t going to let the opportunity wiggle away from him so easily.

The issue at hand was the kiss.

The Kiss.

Not just _any_ kiss, not even one _with_ tongue, but very possibly the most important thing Dorian would do with his life.

The Kiss.

There were oceans of books that could tell Dorian how impossible his theory was. There were twenty years of the highest education money could buy kicking around in Dorian’s brain that screamed how much of a fucking idiot he was. There were journals. Doctors. Religious leaders. The entire population over the age of 12. There were also, in fact, thousands of years of medical knowledge that proved just how utterly fucking insane it would be to test this hypothesis. And Sober Dorian would have recognized that huge collection of knowledge as undoubtedly true. But Drunk Dorian? Drunk Dorian laughed in the face of skeptics (Read: Felix) Drunk Dorian let Logic sit backseat to Fear when the whole “dying best friend” card came into play and fear could drive a brain to funny places.

The Kiss.

Felix had been telling Dorian ‘no’ for years. Felix was a man of science. Of logic. And Felix was too terribly fucking straight to even consider the proposal seriously (nevermind the fact that Dorian had explained, with agonizing clarity, how ignorant it was to assume a kiss had to have some sort of romantic or sexual undertone.)

The Kiss.

True Love’s Kiss that would, through the power of compassion and comradery, cure Felix in every way, shape, and form. _Once you’ve eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth._ Because all the doctors and specialists had told Felix that, despite the probable cures, Felix’s body had decided not to cooperate. The possible cures then turned impossible. When the options became more and more limited on the medical front, Dorian didn’t become desperate as much as he became whimsical.

It was a lighthearted thing- And it’s not like Dorian actually _believed_ a kiss would cure Felix, but if everything else was out of the question then why the fuck not?

Sleeping Beauty was freed from a coma with true love’s kiss. Snow White- was also woken up with a kiss. A prince could do it. And wasn’t Dorian _basically_ a prince anyway? _I certainly am attractive enough to be one_ , he thought to himself, frequently, whenever he stepped in front of a mirror or read any stretch of historical fiction.

But Felix was grossed out by the idea.

Which was valid.

“Dorian Pavus, I would not kiss you if we were the last two people on earth.”

“You almost did once. Remember?”

“No, I don’t remember because I was on morphine at the time. I was on another plane of existence, Dorian. I was floating. I was the fucking walrus, coo coo kachoo.”

“Ah, yes! But you still tried!”

“After a week in the hospital on, let me reiterate, morphine!”

“It still stands to show that somewhere in that big brain of yours, somewhere that only opiates and select forms of medical treatment can touch, you were okay with kissing me.”

“Who knows. In that state of mind I might have thought I was kissing an elephant or an especially talkative bugle.”

“An elephant?” Dorian closed the laptop on his chest and pushed himself up onto an elbow. The laptop crashed to the ground with the shift in movement but Dorian hardly noticed. “Do you... want to kiss an elephant? Is lusty trunk action hiding somewhere in the deepest, darkest corners of your head?”

“You know what? Sure. At this point I’d choose an elephant over you.”

“You wound me!” Dorian yelled, his speech slurring to the point of being noticeable.  

“I’m straight!”  Felix was just as exasperated- Annoyed. Maybe even angry, if Felix actually _could_ be angry with Dorian.

“I’m not asking you to blow me! It’s a kiss, Felix. You kiss _your mom,_ for fuck’s sake-”

Felix shot Dorian a look that would have killed him if spite possessed a tangible form.

_Right. Mother. Or Felix's lack of one. Great._

_Great job._

“I mean,” Dorian began again, “ _I_ kiss _my_ mother and it’s not like I’m trying to get into her pants! I kiss my godchildren! I kiss-” _Naive freshman on tinder who decided college is the perfect place for their first gay experience._

Dorian decided to leave the last bit out. Especially since it usually included more than kissing and it was the exact antithesis of how he felt about Felix.

Dorian cared for Felix deeply, and he knew that, but sometimes emotions got muddled and in that swamp of  shit and anger and confusion Dorian became blind to his ability to express love (namely platonic) and gratitude without falling towards some extreme or another. Somewhere in the fury directed towards an absent god over Felix’s disease and in the absolute undying love for the man Dorian grew up with, there was an inability to actually find a “No Homo” Solution to that particular brand of murky, platonic love.  

Dorian’s brain had _shit_ itself for a solution: _Kiss him, bro. True love’s kiss. What’s the worst that could happen?_ And Dorian had, more often than not while drunk, fixated. He wasn’t attracted to Felix. He didn’t want to start warming Felix’s bed. He wasn’t looking for a rendezvous that would give Felix’s dad a heart attack. And he didn’t want anything mushy gushy or sexual.

Dorian just loved him.

Dorian loved Felix in such a simple, pure way, that he had, as a very complicated, less-than-pure man, failed to recognize it for what it was.

So.

The Kiss.

“Won’t you at least consider it?”

Felix was silent. His head was turned towards the T.V again. _Damn Lifetime Television. Such a cruel mistress._

“Felix. For my sake. Please. Just think on it. I won’t be able to rest easy  _ever_  if you leave without letting me try. I won’t be able to live with the fact that there might have been something I could have done. Even if it is ridiculous, just fucking indulge me.”

A small smile began creep across Felix’s lips- Which he was very obviously attempting to hide. “Shit, you’re such a fucking drama queen.”

“Felix!”

“Fine. Fine. I’ll consider it.”

He probably wouldn't.

* * *

 

**[TO: lepidam_anguem@gmail.com, Dorian Pavus**

**CC: aquaticpavus@yahoo.com, Aquinea Thalrassian-Pavus**

**SUBJECT: Dinner next week?]**

Dorian,

If you aren’t too busy with your grad work or working on your father’s campaign, we should plan a dinner for next weekend! If you don’t have the time I understand. You just always seem busy and your mother suggested the idea. A little downtime never hurt anyone and you could use some downtime.

Regards,

Liv

* * *

 

**[TO: livherathinos@gmail.com, Liv Herathimos**

**CC: aquaticpavus@yahoo.com, Aquinea Thalrassian-Pavus**

**SUBJECT: Re: Dinner next week?]**

Livia,

I don’t help my father with any part of his campaign or his career. I barely even acknowledge his position. We’ve discussed this before.

If my mother suggested the idea of dinner together then maybe we should bring her along as well. Wouldn’t want our biggest fan to be left out, hm?

Warmly,

Dorian Pavus

* * *

 

**[TO: lepidam_anguem@gmail.com, Dorian Pavus**

**CC: aquaticpavus@yahoo.com, Aquinea Thalrassian-Pavus**

**SUBJECT: Re:re: Dinner next week?]**

Ha.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorian is a whimsical drama king while drunk.  
> Will we ever actually meet Lavellan? Who knows.  
> 


	5. Minstrel Maryden and The Menstrual Flow

Dorian didn’t wake gracefully. There was dried saliva running from the corner of his mouth to his chin and he didn’t even want to think about the state of his facial hair. There was a thrumming- Correction- A pounding in his head that was shaking loose any thought he might have been able to form (Of which there were very few.) And oh god, they had only split a few bottles of wine.

Dorian spent the night on Felix’s couch curled up against matching throw pillows and a blanket Felix had draped over him somewhere around 1AM. He only vaguely remembered what he dreamt about, but he was positive it involved white lilies, shag carpeting, wedding bells, and a pig. A pig with a recycling logo superimposed over it’s face.

He picked the sand out of the corners of his eyes, briefly considered eating them, and then wiped them on the pillows.

The living room, the entire house, smelled like bacon and Dorian felt an unexplainable pang of guilt in his stomach. Or hunger. Or disgust. Classifying feelings was rather hard within a second of consciousness.

His hangover should not have been this severe, he decided. He shouldn’t even have had a hangover. Those were for Freshman Post-Dollar-Shot-Night. Not Dorian Pavus. Dorian was the resident wino and Crazy Vodka Uncle in town. He could not be outdone by a few bottles of merlot.

More water, he decided was the key. He definitely should have been drinking more water.

Or coffee.

Yeah, coffee.

Dorian shifted, realized it was an actual human hour outside, called the sunlight streaming through the living room windows “An entire bitch”, and shifted back into his original position, pulling the blanket over his head in the process.

There were noises coming from the kitchen. Noises Dorian wished would stop. It sounded like Felix, under the unfortunate assumption that he had any sort of voice, was singing along to the radio. Pots and pans were being thrown around. And there was definitely, definitely, something happening with bacon.

“Felix!” Dorian’s shout seemed closer to a sneeze. A croak. A bullfrog on the side of the highway with only one working leg and a deathwish. The pain of yelling was, alone, enough to make Dorian consider burying himself in the couch cushions and just dying. Just giving up on life. Releasing himself from his mortal coil. _Ashes to ashes. Goodnight sweet prince. All that poetic bullshit._

Felix’s singing continued, uninterrupted. The DJ on the radio cut the song short and made a lewd comment about his intern’s legs and the weather forecast. 95 degrees by three in afternoon. Sparse clouds. Pollen level: Dangerously high.

“Felix!” Dorian tried again before the next song started. This time it worked and there was a barely audible ‘tsch’ as the radio was turned down, turned off, turned whatever. Dorian pulled the blanket from his eyes as Felix appeared in the archway between the living room and kitchen. There was a spatula in his hand and pancake batter spread across his forehead Simba-style. He had an apron tied around his waist with the words “Worl ‘s Best Gran ma” embroidered in hot pink thread. Dorian really wished he knew why only the ‘D’s were missing.

And he was gaunt, Dorian noted- The pang in his stomach returning threefold.

Felix had never been skeleton-thin by any standard. Big boned, maybe. On the short side, sure. He had been mistaken for a football player in high school. But gaunt? Yikes.

Yikes.

Dorian knew this whole ‘Felix’s body refusing to cooperate’ deal would catch up with him physically- Which it had been. Gradually. Over the past several years. But sometimes it still shocked Dorian to be reminded that the bags under Felix’s eyes were just a bit darker, a bit deeper than they had been a year prior. His hair was just a shade thinner. The color in his cheeks was just a degree less saturated. Realizations like this would dawn on him even if Dorian had spent the entire day with Felix.  An entire weekend. A summer. It was a sudden divine reminder that would grab Dorian by the jaw and scream “Remember you won’t have him forever.” And It left Dorian wanting to keel over and dry heave every time it wormed it’s was into his brain.

Felix’s appearance shouldn’t have spoiled any given interaction or conversation they held- But sometimes it did, which Dorian hated himself for, if only fractionally.  

“What?” Felix brought him back to reality, the spatula held out to his side like an imitation of a hand performing as an imitation of a question mark.

He had forgotten to shave.

Dorian had pulled the blanket down to his chest and had wriggled into a somewhat-sitting position. “Could you, pretty please, because I know you love me, do me one small favor?”

Felix cocked an eyebrow.

“Would you turn off  the garbage you’re listening to- Or at least bring me some tylenol like the good housewife you are so that the garbage seems more bearable. Or both. I would really prefer both.”

“Listen,” Felix, in his faux anger, could not help smiling. He jabbed the spatula towards Dorian. “I don’t know how you expect me to make you breakfast without my early morning 105-point-shit jams. I don’t think I could even cook without the company of DJ Baracuda and the soulful weeping of Minstrel Maryden and the Menstrual Flow.”

“Dear God, is that a real band name?”

“Yes,”  Felix paused, “They’re actually good though. And local.”

“It’s still disgusting.”

“You are so obviously uncomfortable in your masculinity- Which is okay, I guess, because I still love you.”

“Oh fuck off.”

“Hey! Don’t talk to your wife that way.” Felix flicked the spatuala. Pancake batter flew across the room and a drop hit Dorian right below his eye.

**-**

Fifteen minutes later they were sitting on the living room floor with plates of pancakes and bacon in their laps. Felix had never brought Dorian that tylenol, and Dorian’s headache rendered him unable to care enough to rummage for the pills himself.

He did not touch a single thing on his plate. Felix, on the other hand, had already devoured two short stacks. Dorian fiddled with his fork and the ‘click click’ of the metal and china was enough to anger the goblin sitting inside Dorian’s brain. The goblin, of course, being comprised of Terrible Decisions and Empty Wine Bottles.

“So-” It was Felix’s turn to lead an interrogation. Only now they didn’t have the benefit of alcohol. Or Project Runway.

_Fantastic._

“So?”

“So I know we’ve talked about this before-”

“Oh no.”

Felix shoveled half a pancake in his mouth. “Oh yes.”

The danger of eating with a full mouth, Dorian noticed, was the inevitability dribbling maple syrup on the carpet. Disgusting.

“Please don’t-”

“Livia.”

Dorian groaned. They could have been doing anything at the moment and it would have been less painful than this conversation. Waxing his chest hair would have been better. Nipple piercings would have been better. Several thousand paper cuts on his tongue would have been better.

“Just, just consider a few things for me.” Felix said, “Consider that you. You, Dorian Pavus, are being a complete dick to her. Just consider it. I know this is a new concept to you.”

Impossible. Maybe he wasn’t the most sympathetic person on the planet, but he wasn’t blatantly cruel to Livia. Sure, he had called her “White Guilt Proletariat Garbage” during a Christmas party a few years ago. And he had thrown a house party after she moved a state away. And he had refused to buy her a ring for the first two years of their engagement. But a dick? No. Not him. Never.

Dorian’s denial must have been painted across his face because Felix was quick to support his argument. “Think about it like this, if you can pull together the human emotion of empathy for, like, two minutes- Imagine you’re really good friends with a guy in high school. You two hit it off. Check out the skating rink. Go to the drive-in together-”

“The drive-in? Am I fifty?”

“Shh. Let me finish my fantasy.”

“Fantasy? That just makes it weird.”

“Shut the fuck up and let me finish telling you why you’re being a bad person.”

Dorian would have been angry if it hadn’t involved expending emotional energy he would have rather not wasted.

“Anyway,” Felix continued, “Imagine your dads are really good friends. You’re both kind of on the fence about your sexuality and you trust him so you experiment with each other for a few years-”

Dorian buried his head in his hands. Felix’s “Fantasy” was nothing more than a retelling of his and Livia’s entire relationship- Including that gross experimentation stage when Dorian was still afraid to admit to himself that men were the only people he wanted to fuck. Internalized homophobia was a bitch.

“Say this boy, this rich boy, the son of a politician, has been doting on you on and off for, how long was it? Four years?”

“Yeah, four years.”

“You love him. Capital ‘L’. Full heart and soul. Waxing poetic and rose petals and bullshit. But, he’s a dick! He’s a complete trash heap of a human. During his first few years of college his dad starts pressuring him to get married, and instead of telling you that maybe, maybe, he actually wants to fuck women- That _maybe_ he’s actually straight and can’t do any sort of sexual or romantic relationship with another man, you, he just fucking refuses to tell you. Instead of trying to actually talk to his dad or to you, he just figures ‘maybe if I fake it no one will notice’. So he proposes to you. He proposes to you and you’re fucking overjoyed because you love him. This is your best friend! Your fucking soul mate!  But it turns out he only proposed to make his dad happy. And he slowly stops talking to you because he resents you for not being a woman. He won’t move in. He won’t tell you why he’s started being so aggressive. He won’t buy you a ring. Hell, he won’t even see you in fucking person anymore. He starts telling people you’re venomous and cruel and that you wished you had never proposed. But you don’t leave because he’s still your friend you loved in high school and he hasn’t cancelled the fucking wedding.”

Dorian was quiet for several minutes.

“Felix, you know it’s more complicated than that.”

“For you! She’s still hanging on to a high school sweetheart who started hating her for no damn reason. You’re such an emotionally stunted cock. I cannot believe-”

“Listen this guilt trip is great, but unless you think you can do better-”

“I can! I could do so much better! I would either suck it up and fucking marry her, have a couple affairs on the side, adopt a fucking kid, or I would break off the engagement. It’s better than dragging her around in circles.”

“Maybe she deserves it! She’s every bit as much of a bitch to me as I am to her.”

“No she isn’t! She’s just frustrated because you barely talk to her!”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Do you talk to my fiancee on the regular?”

“I do actually!” Felix wasn’t usually one for shouting,  but he was getting close. “Unlike you I haven’t blocked Livia on facebook. Or her phone number. You see, I know how to interact with people without sending them passive aggressive emails.”

Dorian had shrunk into himself. Nothing on his plate had been touched.

Especially not the bacon.

* * *

 

**[TO: livherathinos@gmail.com, Liv Herathimos**

**CC:**

**SUBJECT: Re: Officiators?]**

Livia,

Unless you  plan on making a miraculous conversion to Syrian Orthodoxy, I doubt my family’s priest would be willing to perform the ceremony.

Yours,

Dorian Pavus

* * *

 

**[TO: lepidam_anguem@gmail.com, Dorian Pavus**

**CC:**

**SUBJECT: Re:re: Officiators? ]**

Dorian,

Oh, I’m sorry. For some reason I was under the assumption your parish was slightly more liberal than most. I assumed devout members of the more conservative churches wouldn’t, I don’t know, have sex before marriage.

Or with men.

I must have been mistaken.

Regards,

Liv

 


	6. Goldilocks' Socialist, Good-For-Nothing Ass

Dorian was convinced the New Barista was fucking with him. Thoroughly fucking with him. Smug thing for some fifteen year old looking prick with crooked bangs and one too many pimples to do, but Dorian wasn’t bitter. 

Not one bit. 

That morning, that cursed fucking Monday morning, there were _ three _ ice cubes in his coffee and a little note written just underneath the lip of the lid that read: 

“dont worry.  well getcha swtched 2 ice coffee soon enugh.”

Followed by a detailed comic strip of The Titanic crashing into an iceberg and sinking. Dorian knew it was the Titanic because of the large arrow pointing to the ship with the words “TIT-anic” written in scribbled text below it. The casualties must have been insane. 

Dorian didn’t need this. Dorian was a  _ good fucking person _ . All Dorian was asking for was a vanilla macchiato. Skim. Extra shot. Extra soy whip. Sugar free. With a single ice cube (To cool it off.) A shot of Kahlua. His one request, his simple request, was to have an incident-free acquisition of caffeine- And, in the same strain, a nondescript vessel for alcohol. It really _ should not _ have been that difficult.  By God, he would find the owner of this establishment, he would verbally berate him until this imp was fired (If some sort of duel was involved Dorian wouldn’t complain. He did like to think himself a painting of fabled chivalry.) and maybe then his Michel would return from whatever hell he had been forced into- Hell being part-time. Or early mornings. Or not-front-end work.

“Excuse me?” Dorian lifted his cup, still standing at the pick-up counter of the Bourgeois Pig. Two ice cubes may have been forgivable. But three? Absolute bullshittery. This demanded a remake. And a new paper cup that did not imply the death of hundreds.  _ Thousands? _ So many small scribbled souls lost to the icy waters. Dorian mourned for them. 

The barista (Bee-rista. Dorian laughed at his own joke. Internally.) didn’t bother turning around.

“Excuse me!” Dorian tried again, louder. He shook his cup impatiently. A few drops of coffee, still scalding, dripped from the lip of the lid and over his fingers.  _ Karma _ , probably, and certainly not the ice cubes  _ (Plural!) _  With his second demand, however, she did turn around. 

“Huh?” 

_ Oh. Eloquent. _

“My order?”

The barista wiped her hands on her apron- Which was covered in colors and stains that seemed questionable, at best, for running the front end of a coffee shop.  _ Disgusting. _ “Yeah? What’s up your ass about it?”

_ Even more eloquent. _

“Well-” Dorian began, setting the coffee on the counter. He knew he wasn’t quite to the point of _ rage _ , but a thinly veiled  _ something _ was definitely causing the blood to draw from his fingers and rush to his cheeks and ears.  _ Frustration maybe? Embarrassment? _ His voice had thrown itself up an octave he had become very aware of his own heartbeat.  

“Well what?” Her asked in her smug fucking accent- Whatever the hell it was. Brooklyn? New Jersey? Some small anomaly of a town in the middle of Texas? Or Wales? Dorian was especially bad at these sorts of guessing games. 

_ And _ he was not intimidated by her accent. Dorian was  _ super not  _ intimidated. And People were definitely  _ not _ looking. 

“It’s not what I asked for.” 

A shit-eating grin spread across her face. Not all teeth. But cheeky. Only a half smile, like she was excited to spoil the end of a movie Dorian had been dying to see. Fuck that. 

“Maybe” Dorian began. He didn’t think he was particularly lacking in the self-control department, but it was  _ early- Early enough to accidentally rip a stranger a new asshole.  _ “Maybe English isn’t your first language and the number ‘ _ one _ ’ sounds similar to something like ‘ _ disappointment _ ’ or  _ ‘irony’ _ in your mother tongue, or maybe you skipped the unit in kindergarten over the basics of colors and numbers and not eating paste. Maybe you forgot to wear a mask while excessively spray painting the words ‘rot you from the inside’ on every abandoned post office in your cousin-fucker hometown after your first boyfriend broke up with you.” A few other barely-awake students glanced up from their phones and laptops. If they hadn’t been listening before, they were now. Dorian was close to shouting, just close enough to be noticeable. “Maybe you tried diving into a pool one too many times without noting the absence of water. Maybe you’re just a fucking idiot, but I, here in front of God and everyone, swear that I asked you for one ice cube. Singular.”

The barista, to Dorian’s disappointment, was not groveling on the filthy concrete floor. She was not showering him in coupons for free breakfasts and/or frappuccinos. She didn’t even have the decency to tear up a bit at his insults (A waste really. It was a miracle Dorian was able to read her so thoroughly at the unholy hour of ten in the damn morning.) In fact, she was cackling. Her shit-eating grin was bigger now. All teeth and teeth and  _ teeth _ .  

Dorian was, apparently, going to have to fight a shark. 

Without breaking eye contact she grabbed the cup from the counter. She took several steps backwards towards the leaking ice maker, flipped open the lid, shoved her hand into the fucking abyss, and pulled out a handful of ice cubes. She managed to pop the lid of Dorian’s coffee onto the floor with her thumb and dropped the ice into the cup. After taking care and replacing the lid she calmly put the cup back on the pickup counter. 

The audacity! The flippancy! The complete disrespect for customer service!  _ Was this some sort of game to her? A practical joke? _

Dorian _ was not _ going to lose his shit. 

“Better?” She asked.

Dorian immediately failed his resolution. 

With all factors combined Dorian may have been able to walk out of the coffee shop and lead a semi-regular day. No more cutting insults. No tantrum that ended with a manager kicking him out. It could have been so easy. The problem was that other people existed- And they were watching. And the problem with _ that _ is that Dorian needed to have the last word. Humiliation could definitely be dealt with, but only if he was the last one to deal it.

He picked up the cup and threw the lid at the barista then, with every pair of eyes trained directly on both him and her, he poured the coffee onto the counter. 

The ice cubes slid to the floor. The sound of them shattering was the only noise in the shop aside from the barista’s snorting and laughing. There were tears in her eyes and she was nearly doubled-over. _ Lunatic. Absolute fucking lunatic.  _

Dorian calmly brushed his hair back and turned towards the door. Before he made it through the front the barista managed to catch her breath enough to try and say something. “See you tomorrow, Pretty Boy!”

Dorian’s foot was caught between the glass door and the doorframe. He turned back towards her “Is that supposed to be an insult? There’s nothing wrong with being a pretty boy! Tell me I’m the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen!”

“You’re gorgeous!”

“Fuck you!” Dorian slammed the door as he left. It was a wonder it didn’t shatter. 

**-**

During Sera’s next break she sat on a box full of expired pre-made breakfast sandwiches and pulled out her phone.

**[10:45 To: Ringleader Of T He shitshow]** hey 

**[10:45 To: Ringleader Of T He shitshow]** th cuck in ur lectur hes got a hanfled bar rte

**[10:45 To: Ringleader Of T He shitshow]** *handlebar

**[10:45 To: Ringleader Of T He shitshow]** lke mustache 

**[10:45 To: Ringleader Of T He shitshow]** & a nose like a v angry bird of brey 

**[10:45 To: Ringleader Of T He shitshow]** *pray (????)

**[10:45 To: Ringleader Of T He shitshow]** *repy

**[10:46 To: Ringleader Of T He shitshow]** **p r e y

**[10:46 From: Ringleader Of T He shitshow] sorry?**

**[10:46 From: Ringleader Of T He shitshow] what?**

**[10:46 To: Ringleader Of T He shitshow]** theres the one guy you nd harding keep talkin abt

**[10:46 To: Ringleader Of T He shitshow]** the 1 fucker u two will not shut up about every friday

**[10:47 To: Ringleader Of T He shitshow]** the guy with the nose in the mustache and the 50 fukin earrings lik hes trynna prove something

**[10:47 To: Ringleader Of T He shitshow]** thats the guy youre fucki ng with in ur lecture 

**[10:47 To: Ringleader Of T He shitshow]** right???? 

**[10:47 To: Ringleader Of T He shitshow]** thats him r ght?

**[10:47 To: Ringleader Of T He shitshow]** i thnik hes 1 of my regulrs??

**[10:48 From: Ringleader Of T He shitshow] does he wear eyeliner? like ancient egyptian royalty style?**

**[10:48 To: Ringleader Of T He shitshow]** ye

**[10:48 From: Ringleader Of T He shitshow] does he have a look on his face like he’s constantly smelling dog shit stuck to the bottom of his shoe?**

**[10:48 To: Ringleader Of T He shitshow]** ye

**[10:48 From: Ringleader Of T He shitshow] yeah. thats him.**

**[10:48 To: Ringleader Of T He shitshow]** shit boy ive got a fukin story 4 u

**-**

Dorian, as most would assume, was a purist when it came to coffee. Starbucks? Bullshit cash grab that probably substituted milk with sawdust and/or a paste made entirely of fluoride. Dunkin Donuts? Too popular. Tim Hortons? Didn’t exist on Dorian’s plane of reality. The Canadian’s created the name to screw with the rest of the world. And homemade coffee was out of the question- Sure, he could ask Jana to throw a pot on before he went to class, but it just didn’t taste as good and nothing said “wealthy and pretentious” like walking into class every day with the most expensive drink could find in this godforsaken city before noon. So with all other options exhausted, Dorian accepted his morning would be spent without even the most basic of necessities.    

**[10:45 To: Prince Charming** ] So, question. 

**[10:46 From: Prince Charming] hm?**

**[10:46 To: Prince Charming]** Could you bring me coffee when you meet me for lunch?

**[10:46 To: Prince Charming]** There was an incident at the Bourgeois Pig.

**[10:46 To: Prince Charming]** One thing led to another.

**[10:46 From: Prince Charming] oh my god.**

**[10:46 To: Prince Charming]** And now there is a distinct lack of coffee in my life. 

**[10:47 From: Prince Charming] dorian.**

**[10:47 To: Prince Charming]** And I may not be allowed back. It remains to be seen.

**[10:47 From: Prince Charming] what did you do?**

Dorian was sitting in his car in the staff parking lot outside the repurposed parking garage of a hall (The one that looked like architectural vomit.  _ That _ one.) His discussion was supposed to start in thirty minutes and after that little show at The Bourgeois Pig Dorian was feeling a bit scattered. What were they even supposed to be doing that day? Rough drafts? Right? The first paper was due in a week or so and Dorian, in all his graduate wisdom, was supposed to lead his students down the right rabbit hole or to the right pitcher of kool-aid, or to whichever metaphor caused the least peril. It was an easy topic. Something about political culture and pop culture and how the two intermingled. Dorian was certain at least half the papers were going to be film reviews of Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. The others would probably be an attempt to read Star Trek as a communist text. 

Dorian would not be kind with his critiques. These were the perils of not getting his damn coffee. 

**[10:48 To: Prince Charming]** Alright, but first I need to preface this with my innocence.

**[10:48 To: Prince Charming** ] I am not the antagonist in this situation.

**[10:48 From: Prince Charming] sounds fake but okay.**

**[10:48 To: Prince Charming]** Hashtag “Innocent Until Proven Guilty” 

**[10:48 From: Prince Charming] do not.**

**[10:48 To: Prince Charming]** Hashtag “Don’t Be A Bitch”

**[10:48 From: Prince Charming] babe please.**

With his knees pulled up to his chest, in the driver’s seat of a Bentley parked outside a fake garage, Dorian Pavus quietly laughed to himself. The morning lull was filled with ice cubes and blunt teeth and accusations of assholery. 

**-**

“Listen, if you don’t know what an adjective is at this point in your life your only option is to pray and hope your mother lets you live in her basement when you inevitably fail out of school because you don’t know the basic parts of your native fucking language.”

Dorian had accidentally made three of his students cry in the past fifteen minutes and it looked like he was close to a fourth. Maybe he should have been more merciful, but how were any of them expected to succeed if they didn’t get their ass kicked every once in awhile? The first few weeks of the school year were the optimal times to deconstruct the god-complex half of them had left high school with so they could be built up again. Better. Stronger. Able to cite their sources without double checking the MLA handbook. Sure, a couple of tears here and there seemed a bit cruel but Dorian was  _ helping _ them all in the long run.

_ Not _ venting his frustration. 

“And I’m not saying your writing style is garbage, but if I get a final draft with this many commas I’m going to retroactively flunk you in eighth grade English. Do you understand?” Dorian stood over the desk of student-number-fuckall, underlining and circling the awkward bits and writing quirks he wasn’t a fan of- And the mistakes, of course, of which there were actually very few. 

When it came down to it Dorian really thought his students were the pick of the litter. The top tier. Future presidents, all of them. Their essay writing skills, however, could have used some work. 

Dorian’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he decided to spare the poor soul beneath him his scripted spiel over the importance of not being a dumbass when citing movie scripts. As he made his way to the front of the room he pulled out his phone and smiled at the name like this was some sort of new occurrence. Like he and Felix hadn’t been texting less than an hour ago.

**[11:45 From: Prince Charming] okay for lunch im thinking wraps.**

**[11:45 From: Prince Charming] do u want that one with the tomatoes and bacon and diced avocado.**

**[11:45 From: Prince Charming] pls answer quickly. im at the store.**

**[11:47 To: Prince Charming]** Yes. That one! You’re a gem. You’re an angel even. 

Dorian situated himself on a stool overlooking two dozen devastated faces. The poster across the room caught his eye. Recycling Pig silently begged for a cleaner, more sustainable Earth.

**[11:47 To: Prince Charming]** Wait. 

**[11:47 To: Prince Charming]** No bacon on mine. 

**[11:47 From: Prince Charming] you got it.**

-

Dorian didn’t know what he expected when he walked into his undergraduate Myth lecture later that afternoon. The wave of residual skunkweed? Sure. An enthusiastic greeting from the professor (Who Dorian could have sworn was his age)? Abso-fucking-lutely. The couple that was sure-as-shit trying to give him an aneurysm just by fucking with his seating? Yes.  _ Yes. _ Because a kind and loving God did not exist and even if he did there was no proof he would give a single shit about Dorian. Perhaps not even a fragment, a molecule, a piece of the smallest possible component of a shit. The tiniest amount of shit possible. 

He only wanted some consistency in this insignificant patch of his life. Just a bit. Just a damn seat. What was so hard about that? 

Everything apparently, because just like the previous weeks, Chucklehead McSuperPale and Benchpress The Munchkin Queen had moved to steal his seat. In some sort of double fucked reach-around and/or divine irony and/or simple math, they had finally come full circle. Dorian had migrated so many times,and the fuckwads had followed said migration so closely that Dorian’s original seat, the golden child, the verifiable third bed that Goldilocks had camped her socialist, good-for-nothing ass in, was finally free. Seven rows back. The perfect distance that says ‘Yes, professor, this topic is a passion of mine,’ but not ‘I want to blow you for a better grade.’

He could have taken it back. 

But then his chance to be petty would fly out the window. 

No, Dorian Pavus was a man of intrigue and politics. Dorian Pavus could prove this bullfuckery was, in fact, intentional. 

He had stopped five steps into the hall. Dorian made eye contact with Harding and promptly turned around and walked back out. He was heading for the balcony seats. The seats were usually untouched when there were few enough students to make the university consider scrapping the class, yet here he was. He climbed the staircase, his bag bouncing against his thigh and Felix buzzing in his pocket, and stepped into the hall again, this time thirty feet higher. From the first row in the balcony he was almost directly above his targets. Two-thirds of the Orion’s Belt of filthy college students. He was the missing piece, but stars moved all the time. Hurtling through the void and all that jazz. Only the void was an over-lit theatre filled with too many people who negleted to bathe. 

With absolutely no subtlety, because fuck subtlety at this point, Dorian shoved his phone, angled towards the lower seats, through the slats in the balcony railing, and took a picture. 

**[12:54 To: Prince Charming]** I’ve decided to play their game.

**[12:54 To: Prince Charming]** Tell me, do you think this is excessive?

**[12:54 To: Prince Charming]** [Attached One Photo]

**[12:55 From: Prince Charming] no.**

**[12:55 From: Prince Charming] now you’re at the perfect height to piss on them.**

**[12:55 To: Prince Charming]** I don’t fight that dirty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was going to be longer but I ended up just splitting it in half for the sake of pacing and time and such.  
> Catch those Lavellan texts.


	7. "The Addresses Of The Books? Like Where They Live?"

**[15:01 From: Prince Charming] ok so sad news.**

**[15:01 From: Prince Charming] i’m going to be a bit late.**

**[15:01 From: Prince Charming] there was an incident with The Lunch.**

**[15:02 To: Prince Charming]** Care to elaborate?

**[15:02 From: Prince Charming] i’m not a proud man. i’m not afraid to admit that i’ve been bested by produce.**

**[15:02 To: Prince Charming]** What are you trying to tell me here?

**[15:02 From: Prince Charming] what im saying is im going to be late.**

**[15:02 From: Prince Charming] because i dont have our lunch ready.**

**[15:02 To: Prince Charming]** Are you going to give me anything else to work with, or am I expected to fabricate any story? Like one where you accidentally cover the tortillas in flavored lube instead of mustard. Or one where you throw avocados off an interstate bridge for a $5 bet.

 **[15:02 To: Prince Charming]** Really the possibilities are endless.

**[15:02 From: Prince Charming] it was 30 dollars oh my god dorian**

**[15:02 To: Prince Charming]** Oh. Pardon my ignorance. I’m terribly unfamiliar with the produce/impulcicity exchange rate.

 **[15:03 To: Prince Charming]** Impulcicity. That’s a word.

**[15:03 From: Prince Charming] impulsivity.**

**[15:03 To: Prince Charming]** Thank you.

**[15:03 From: Prince Charming] of course.**

**[15:03 From: Prince Charming] not to mention i still need to pick up your coffee. hopefully the barista has an hour and a half to spare to listen to all your damn modifiers. and then another hour and a half to fucking make it.**

**[15:03 From: Prince Charming] at this point i’m not sure if i’m more surprised or disappointed that you haven’t asked for your drinks to be sprinkled with flakes of gold.**

**[15:03 To: Prince Charming]** Who says I’m not asking? It’s a shame that your doubt is making a humble man out of me.

 **[15:03 To: Prince Charming** ] You know me better than that, Felix.

 **[15:04 To: Prince Charming]** They won’t even provide proper ice cubes. Should I honestly expect anything more than spray-painted tin foil when asking for gold flakes?

 **[15:04 To: Prince Charming]** I think not.

**[15:04 From: Prince Charming] i think next time you should just bring your own, you know? put a pinch of gold on top of your coffee in front of, who?**

**[15:04 From: Prince Charming] a dozen or so broke college students.**

**[15:04 From: Prince Charming] and a barista working minimum.**

**[15:04 From: Prince Charming] theres no way you’ll get punched square in the jaw.**

**[15:04 From: Prince Charming] not a single bit of a percent.**

**[15:05 From: Prince Charming] i’ve calculated it.**

**[15:05 To: Prince Charming]** I doubt any of them are broke if they’re getting their coffee at The Pig,

 **[15:05 To: Prince Charming]** But who am I to argue?

 **[15:05 To: Prince Charming]** You do know my coffee order, right?

**[15:05 From: Prince Charming] yes.**

**[15:05 To: Prince Charming]** Are you sure?

**[15:05 From: Prince Charming] yes.**

**[15:05 To: Prince Charming]** Vanilla Macchiato.

**[15:05 From: Prince Charming] skim. extra shot. extra soy whip. skinny.**

**[15:05 To: PRince Charming]** Sugar free.

**[15:05 From: Prince Charming] same thing you cock.**

**[15:06 To: Prince Charming]** It’s not.

 **[15:06 From: Prince Charming]** **keep bitching and i’ll get you chai**

 **[15:06 To: Prince Charming]** I’m allergic.

**[15:06 From: Prince Charming] google search the definition of joke.**

**[15:06 To: Prince Charming]** Direct quote from The Google “Felix Alexius. Proper Noun. Defined as a massive, gaping asshole, with no finer qualities except for being a decent cook. ”  

 **[15:06 From: Prince Charming] i’m sorry did you just say** **“The Google”**

**[15:07 From: Prince Charming] is that a thing you just said**

**[15:07 From: Prince Charming] in the year of our lord 2015?**

**[15:07 From: Prince Charming] “The Google?”**

**[15:07 From: Prince Charming] you are an actual 80 year old woman.**

**[15:07 From: Prince Charming] i’m changing your name in my phone to just**

**[15:07 From: Prince Charming] “The Google”**

**[15:07 From: Prince Charming] so i can privately shame you every time we talk.**

**[Messages Muted]**

_Ass._

_His ass._

_But an ass none the less._

Dorian shoved his phone back into his pocket as he approached the steps of the library. This whole “Felix being late for lunch” debacle was going to throw a wrench in his afternoon plans- Not that the whole “Possibly getting banned from the Bourgeois Pig” incident didn’t throw a wrench in his life plans, but that was beside the point.  If this was going to set a precedent for how the rest of the week was going to go, Dorian wished there was a way to opt out of existence- Just for a short while. Just until the world got it’s shit in order. Maybe the world needed to take a long weekend. A short vacation. Get a tan. Get laid (Dorian certainly did.)  And when the world came back that barista would be out of a job, Felix’s would humor his true love’s kiss theory, and all things would happen exactly at their allotted time.

It would be paradise, really.

A paradise where the air of the waning summer heat filled with the smell of- _dirty underwear and burnt leaves._

_Ugh._

_Disgusting._

A few students, who looked much _too young to be at a university, dear God_ , were smoking on the steps outside the library.

Awful habit. Dorian knew from experience. He had tried smoking for a month a year or so prior, until Felix had reminded him there was a chance, however slight it may be, that it may have turned his teeth yellow. Or tinted them yellow.

And Dorian was far too shallow to entertain that possibility. Lose his pearly whites? May as well have just asked the Romans to fall to- whoever wanted to conquer Rome in such a cliche metaphor. Or to give up incest as a hobby- Really either comparison worked.

Apparently Dorian was staring because one of them refused to break eye contact. _How hostile._ Dorian could have started another scene. He was, very close, in fact, to brawling with someone three-quarters his age in front of a university library because the Bourgeois Pig Incident (™)  had not only warmed his blood, but set it boiling.

Or at the very least, it had put him on edge.

“What?” Dorian snarled, stopping with feet planted on two different steps after a god-fearing five seconds of uncomfortable eye contact.

The freshman’s lips curled and he glanced towards the other two shit-for-brains who were close to bursting into laughter. That was the face of a smug child (Dorian knew, being a smug child himself.)

“Relax man. Just admiring the ‘stache.” The student blew a smoke ring. Dorian was not impressed.

“Maybe one day you’ll be old enough to grow one _just_ like it.”

The laughter finally erupted as Dorian reached the summit of his ascent and pushed open the doors.

 

There was a sort of comfort in the immediate absence of birdsong and laughter. In the banishment of pollen and all it’s unfortunate effects. Though the summer heat was quickly replaced by an overly-robust central air system that was obviously overcompensating for something (Not that Dorian was implying that an AC unit possessed genitals. But what if?) And with the chill the sweat on Dorian’s forehead felt close to freezing five steps towards the service desk.

Unfortunate.

There was, god willing, a book on hold for him at the front desk. He could have wandered the stacks looking for it himself, sure, flipping through anything that looked older than his grandfather, but then the original intention would be lost and he would find himself in a Wikipedia hell spiral- Or the equivalent. With books.

Ancient Scholars might have even called it curiosity. Or a pursuit of knowledge, which was exactly what he was looking for, by coincidence.

 _In Pursuit of Knowledge,_ was the name of the book. Written by some old priest or monk or equally titled figure. Brother Genitivi. The name, Dorian was almost certain, was fake as hell. _Or fake as... plastic._ Maybe “Hell” was a troubling comparison if the name wasn’t actually some sort of alias.

And who was Dorian to go around disrespecting dead authors?

There were stains on the carpeted floor of the library’s lobby. Splatters and rings of dark, long-dried lakes. He tried not to step on the edges of them as he approached the counter. Force of habit. _Only the center was safe_ , a nagging, childish voice told him, faintly, as to not outshine Actual Human Logic. It was the same voice that told children stepping on cracks would break their mothers’ backs and that the tooth fairy, despite the petite name, had to wield some sort of terrifying magic. He tried not to listen to that voice, but he never stepped on the edges of the stains, just in case.  

The rings were spilled coffee, mostly.

Coffee. Right.

Coffee.

He needed that.

There was a line to the desk. A line of living, breathing humans - A line between Dorian and his acquisition of yet another simple request- The first being an uneventful trip to a cafe in the mornings, but look where wishful thinking had brought him. Dorian just wanted to take his book and scurry to the basement. To his rust and his abandoned shelves and his tables where the paint was chipping off the corners.  

That line consisted of exactly one man.

One man who was losing his absolute shit.

The librarian looked like she wanted to die and Dorian felt a small sense of solidarity with that. _Me too, Josie,_ he thought. (Six years under the same routine was enough time to learn the names of every staff member in the building.)

_Me fucking too._

“So you don’t know the author's name?” The librarian asked as Dorian walked up behind The Obstruction.

“No,” The man in front of Dorian said. He sounded equal parts unsure and _even more unsure._

_‘Academia is incredible.’_

Air was escaping Josie’s lungs at a rate they may have been fatal. “Alright.” She began pecking away at the keyboard behind the desk. “ And you said it was a required text for a class?”

“Yes.” The man was, amazingly, able to turn a simple confirmation into a half-steady question.

“I can try and look up the class for you and then show you the list of required texts. Then you can pick out whichever title stands out the most. Does that sound good?”

“Sounds great.”

“Excellent. What’s the class code?”

“I have no idea.”

There was death in Josephine's eyes. There was death in Dorian’s eyes. Death permeated from the walls.

“Not a problem.” Josie’s tone was deceptive. It most certainly was a problem. “How about the name of the class? The subject and number?”

“I’m not sure.”

 _Dear fucking God,_ who allowed this man into a place of higher education? How, in any plane of existence, had this hard-headed charlatan compiled an application of such well camouflaged dog shit that he was able to attend an institution like this and expected to be taken seriously?

Not even the _damn class name._

Then again, maybe Dorian was being a bit brash, as his anti-coffee shakes were telling him. His caffeine withdrawal was reaching a severe level.

He did had a tendency to jump tothe worst possible conclusions about strangers.  

Maybe the man was lost.

Or a transfer student.

Odd, really, that he looked too old to be an undergraduate student. His shirt  was old, stained around the armpits and there was dried paint splattered down his jeans. His sandals looked like something Felix would call “Lesbian Single-Mom Chic” and there were words scrawled across the back of his shirt that read “Children of God Summer Camp. STAFF” His hair curled like uncooked noodles that had been pasted to his scalp and for a brief moment Dorian wondered if perhaps this was just a homeless man who had, in an episode of early-onset dementia (Because that how it worked, right?) wandered into the library to berate poor, defenseless Josie.

“How about this?” Josie said, “Let’s regress back to just the subject. Is it a _math_ class?Or maybe a-”

“Don’t patronize me. It’s a history class. I _know_ it’s a history class at least.”

Josie held up her palms in an unneeded surrender. “Alright. Alright.”

Dorian sighed and he was sure it could be heard both two floors above and two floors below him. The man in front of him shot a look backwards and Dorian noticed that the bags under his eyes were heavy enough cause a muscle strain. Bodybuilders probably fought over the right to lift those damn things.

The point being that this guy was, obviously, _struggling_.

“Alright so let’s start at the top then.” Josie began pecking away at the keyboard again. “We’ve got History 100? Intro To Modern Hist-”

“No.”

“Right. History 102: Sex and Religion in the Eastern World?”

“No?”

“105? A Critical Eye On Primary Sources?”

“Never in a hundred years. Sounds terribly dry.”

“You know that class is required in the history program, right?”

“Dear god, really?”

“Sadly.”

“Keep going.”

“History 112: Shoguns and Samurai, How Japan Shaped Modern Warfare?”

“Closer. The class doesn’t focus on Japan but _it is_ over military history. More European I think?”

Josie’s head tilted up and she made eye contact with Dorian. That small bit of information may have been helpful earlier, but at least she was getting closer. The sooner she found this man’s wet-dream military power complex of a class the sooner everyone within earshot of the service desk could breath a sigh of relief  and continue ignoring the rest of the world.

As it turned out, Dorian was the only other person within earshot.  

Josie was quiet for another several seconds, searching through her catalogue of classes, or magic eight ball, or whatever occultishly slow system they used behind the desk.

“I’ve got a History 170: Raping and Pillaging, Rules of War in Ancient Rome?”

“No.”

“205. Military History From Genghis Khan to Drone Strikes?”

“That’s a terrible name.”

“Is it your class?”

“Well, no.”

“What about History 225, A Righteous Crusade, Deconstructing The Templars and their Holy Wars?”

“Yes!”

“What?”

“Yes. That’s what I’m looking for.”

“There are five people in this class.”

“Yes, and I’m one of them.”

“And you didn’t think to memorize the name of the class?”

“Well I’m a bit busy with-” The man waved his noncommittal hand in a very noncommittal way. “I’m just busy.”

“Right.”

“Please, can you _just_ give me the name of the book?”

“There are _four_ different required texts for this class- Including a movie.”

“Can I have them?”

“All four of them?”

“Yes.”

“Including the movie?”

“No. No. Just the books.”

“So you just want the _three_ books?”

“Yes. The three books.”

“And not the movie?”

“Have mercy.”

Josie shot a quick smile towards Dorian before scribbling the titles across a post-it note. She handed to the man and Dorian noticed the armpits of his shirt were soaked. With a quick ‘thank you’ that sounded like something that would come out of the mouth of a hostage three weeks into his stint, The Obstruction _finally_ fucking left. Dorian approached the desk and began drumming his fingers against the warped plastic.

“Morning, Josie.”

“It’s three in the afternoon.”

Dorian glanced at the clock ticking above the desk. _It_ was infamous for being a spiteful bitch during finals week- and that wasn’t just an obscure quasi-philosophical observation on the passage of time and the fleeting breath of life, Dorian just hated _that_ specific clock. That clock was an absolute prick. _That clock_ was never properly wound during daylight savings.

Also it was 3:12.

Josie was twelve minutes off. Absolutely deplorable behavior for a librarian, in his opinion. Dorian could do better. Possibly. If he hadn’t incorrectly assumed it was still morning.

“Afternoon then.”

“Better.”

“I live for your approval, you know?”

“What can I do for you?”

“Short of professing your undying love and dedication for me, your best patron? Who has never once turned a book in past it’s due date- Who has never once incurred a late fee?”

“Yes, short of that?”

“I have a book pulled yesterday. Be a dear and grab it for me, would you?”

“Not a problem. Can I have your student number?”

“At this point I’m honestly offended you haven’t memorized it.”

“I’m sure I have it written down somewhere-” And before Josie could get the rest out of her mouth Dorian had a partner. Attached at the hip. Sweaty. With the bags under his eyes. The Obstruction, The Fuckwit, had returned and had decided to cut the whole “line” process (That Dorian had so graciously and patiently waited out for him.) because apparently manners were reserved for people that weren't raised by god-forsaken wolves. The man slapped his post-it note on the desk and slid it towards Josie.

Dorian hadn’t even heard him approach.

“There’s a problem. So, the authors are on here but not the addresses?”

Josie, a bit caught off guard, clicked her tongue once before turning her attention towards him.

“The addresses?”

“The addresses of the books? Like where they live?” Dorian scoffed, “Are their houses built out bookworm carcesses and Robert Frost poems?”

Both of them stared at Dorian.

“I mean the codes.” The man began again, “You know, with the letters and numbers and decimals?”

“It’s called a _call number._ ” Dorian said.

“Can I help you?” The man replied, frustration dripping into his voice.

Dorian squared his shoulders.

“Here,” Josie, ever the peacekeeper, took the note and wrote the call numbers below each title before a confrontation erupted. “Sorry I forgot to give them to you earlier.”

“Thank you.” He took the scrap of paper and turned about-face, military style, before walking off. Dorian figured that must have been at least a little difficult in Lesbian Sandals, but he had pulled it off all the same.

“Right, anyway. Student number. That’s going to be- Oh- Zero. Seven. Fuck.” Dorian reached for his wallet and began to fumble for his ID.

“You don’t need to actually worry about it. I’ll find it by name for you.”

“You’re an absolute doll.”

“Let’s see,” She typed typed his name into the computer and began searching. “Pavus. Pavus. Pavus. I’m not finding anything.”

“Did you spell it right?”

“P-A-V-I-S?”

“No, it’s P-A-V-U-S.”

“That’s right. I remember! Because it’s spelled like ‘peacock’ in Latin.”

“Yes. It earned me plenty of ridicule in elementary school.”

“Really? Were a lot of kids speaking Latin in second grade?”

“You think it’s impossible, but I went to a private school. The waiting list for the place took years just to get onto. There was a Pollock in the cafeteria. Latin was a _required_ subject.”

“That doesn’t sound like a-”

And like clockwork the man was there again. Approaching. Hands on the counter. Frustrated. Slightly more disheveled than he had been thirty seconds previously.

“I’m having difficulty with the call numbers.” He said.

“How’s that?” Josie asked.

“It’s not the Dewey Decimal System. What kind of library doesn’t use the Dewey Decimal System?”

“Libraries that don’t cater to twelve year olds.” Dorian snapped. “They use Library of Congress classifications here. It’s not that hard to figure out.”

“I’m sorry, are you a librarian?”

“No. _I’m_ a functioning adult.”

The man was red, from his neck to his cheeks- Pink interrupted by blonde, patchy stubble.

“You know what!?”

“Tell me.” Dorian raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest.  

Josie looked distressed. A small bird caught between a moving car and a gang of children. Broken wing and all.

“Dorian.” She laughed nervously. The fear in her eyes wasn’t dimming, but now it was joined by something else. And Dorian was afraid. “Why don’t you help, oh, pardon you never gave me your name?”

“I didn’t.”

“ _Right._ Dorian, why don’t you go help _this gentleman_ track down the call numbers since you know the library so well?”

“A convincing argument,” Dorian mused, completely unsatisfied with the direction this conversation was turning. Dorian was aiming West but in some fucked act of malevolence he had been thrown towards the Atlantic. “But instead, what if I didn’t?”  

“That’s your prerogative,” She said, hands folded neatly on the counter. “But I can’t promise I’ll be lenient with our policy of not allowing food in the library anymore.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“And full lunches at that? Anyone caught eating a full meal with, say, one of their friends, in the basement, daily, might not stay in the library’s favor for long.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Never. I am merely _encouraging_ you to step out of your comfort zone and help a fellow student.”

“You _are_ threatening me.”

“Go help him find his books and I’ll give you _Pursuit of Knowledge_. Fair?”

“Oh! Now you’ve got a hostage!”  

“Please,” The man interrupted. “One of you. I don’t care which one. I need to get this done.”

“Fine,” Dorian growled, turning away from Josie. “Let’s go find your historic fucking manuscripts on the hundredth fucking time Europe was being a shit. Now, what was your name?”

“Cullen.”

“Great. Let’s go, Cullen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the pacing/quality/update time. I've been working through a block for a couple months.  
> The next chapter is going to just be an extension of this one (Splitting it up into 3 parts.) and Lavellan will appear soon probably.


	8. Florida Was A Mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FELIXS POV.  
> Bear with me here. Exposition? Would you like some more fucking exposition?  
> Dorian is religious in canon. The faith he practices in this fic is Syrian Orthodoxy, a branch of Eastern Orthodox Christianity which I know a lot of people aren't super familiar with.  
> To clear up any confusion Dorian is 100% a gay man in this fic, just like in canon. There's a lot of dialogue about being confused and using different labels but that's entirely due to the worldview of the straight characters and the societal assumptions they hold that gay people have to be "Gold Star Gays" for their identity to be valid.  
> [Sips my Queer Discourse Tea (tm)]

**[15:15 From: Liv <3] Hey fun fact.**

Felix was dicing an avocado when his phone, sitting on the counter next to him, buzzed. Sure, Felix knew there were proper ways to cut an avocado. Ways that required a spoon and a youtube tutorial, by life was too short and he didn’t exactly give a single, solitary shit.

Not a one.

He also only had a clean knife because spoons were, apparently, harder to come by in his house. Felix blamed ghosts or possibly those weird pink pills he took for his kidneys, that sometimes made him lose track of time, things, places, emotions, and the location of lost silverware.

He wiped his hands on a dish towel and picked up his phone.

 **[15:15 To: Liv <3]** i live for fun facts.

It was Livia Herathimos- Wonderful, _frustrated_ , wounded thing.

**[15:15 From: Liv <3] Did you know walmart sells bridal lingerie? **

**[15:15 From: Liv <3] Like unabashedly. **

**[15:15 From: Liv <3] Can you even imagine?**

**[15:15 To: Liv <3]** im having trouble imagining you inside a walmart tbh.

**[15:15 From: Liv <3] What about the lingerie? **

**[15:16 To: Liv <3]** less trouble imagining that.

**[15:16 From: Liv <3] …**

**[15:16 From: Liv <3] Wow. **

**[15:16 To: Liv <3]** wow, i know right.

**[15:16 From: Liv <3] Hitting on your best friend’s future wife?**

**[15:16 To: Liv <3]** ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**[15:16 From: Liv <3] A bit ballsy, huh?**

**[15:16 To: Live <3]** it’s amazing how i can hear your sarcasm from all the way over here.

He tossed the avocado peels (Skins? Bit morbid.) into the trash and briefly wondered if it could even be considered lunchtime so late in the afternoon. Maybe it was closer to pre-dinner. _Prinner_.  Or Post Lunch. _Punch._ Mid-Afternoon Fake Meal. _Miafameal. Mafia-Meal._

_“Here’s our Mafia-Meal, Dorian. It’s like malt o'meal meal but with more swimming with the fishes and concrete boots.”_

His phone buzzed again.

**[15:16 From: Liv <3] Pfft. Right? Like he would even care. **

**[15:16 To: Liv <3]** you know him so well

 **[15:17 To: Liv <3]** its almost like

**[15:17 From: Liv <3] We’re engaged or something?**

**[15:17 From: Liv <3] Wild, I know.**

Felix pulled a pan of bacon off the stove and tossed a few of the pieces onto a plate before dabbing the less subtle grease spots away with a dish towel. He started to throw an even amount of bacon on both tortillas he had rolled out on the counter, before remembering that Dorian, for some unknown reason, was being as picky as a toddler with his food.

**[15:19 From: Liv <3] Really though I did have a question. **

**[15:19 To: Liv <3]** yes I would love to see a picture of the bridal lingerie.

 **[15:19 To: Liv <3]** thank you for asking.

 **[15:19 To: Liv <3]** not on you, of course.

 **[15:19 To: Liv <3]** that would be the worst of me.

**[15:20 From: Liv <3] Oh my god. Wait did you actually believe I went to Walmart?**

**[15:20 From: Liv <3] Honey, please. It’s me. **

**[15:21 To: Liv <3]** you know what,youre right. what the hell was i thinking.

**[15:21 From: Liv <3] I found it online.**

**[15:22 To: Liv <3]** so youre not anal about shopping at walmart, as long as its online?

**[15:22 From: Liv <3] It came up in a search for bridal lingerie and I was feeling adventurous. **

**[15:22 To: Liv <3]** what is the difference between bridal lingerie and regular lingerie even?

**[15:22 From: Liv <3] Bridal is usually white. **

**[15:22 To: Liv <3]** because of virginity?

**[15:23 From: Liv <3] Yes. Because of virginity.**

**[15:23 From: Liv <3] That this chauvinist society deems as cleanliness, or purity, or wealth for some reason.  **

**[15:23 From: Liv <3] Despite the fact that virginity is super fake. **

**[15:24 To: Liv <3]** right right. down with the patriarchy.

 **[15:24 To: Liv <3]** rah rah. shatter the glass ceiling

 **[15:24 To: Liv <3]** subvert lawnmower culture.

**[15:24 From: Liv <3] Don’t be a prick.**

**[15:24 To: Liv <3]** liv, sweetheart, honey, doll, i was feeling it.

**[15:25 From: Liv <3] Alexius, **

**[15:25 From: Liv <3] Trying to get a rise out of me is below you. **

**[15:25 To: Liv <3]** lmao. no its not.

**[15:26 From: Liv <3] I know. **

**[15:26 From: Liv <3] If you were here right now you would be able to hear me sighing, audibly. **

Felix pulled a bag of lettuce from his fridge and tossed a few pieces onto each wrap like the celebrity chef he was. For a brief second he considered _actually_ substituting mustard for flavored lube on Dorian’s lunch, as Dorian had so fucking brilliantly “suggested” before he decided that, nah, it would be too much work to hunt down flavored lube for the sole purpose of ruining the remainder of Dorian’s day.

Felix was a kind god.

A merciful god-

**[15:27 From: “The Google”] I’m going to bomb the library.**

A kind and merciful god that loved his crotchety-grandpa-of-a-friend. Dorian, Felix was positive, was just a cantankerous old man stuck in the body of an equally pissy twenty-four year old.

 **[15:27 To: “The Google”]** welcome back. you werent responding to my texts so i started drawing up our divorce papers.

 **[15:28 To: “The Google”]** i hope this whole ‘going to prison for bombing a school’ wont fuck with my alimony.

**-**

**[15:28 From: Liv <3] Anyway. As I was saying, it’s usually white. **

**[15:28 To: Liv <3]** wait whats usually white?

**[15:28 From: Liv <3] The bridal lingerie?**

**[15:28 From: Liv <3] And if the Walmart design department is to believe, it’s also bedazzled with the words “Bride” or “Just Married” across the crotch. **

**[15:28 From: Liv <3] Or the rear. Depending on what style you prefer. **

**-**

**[15:28 From: “The Google”] Are you concerned with why I’m going to bomb the library? I understand you’re busy but can’t you pretend to humor me?**

**[15:29 To: “The Google”]** okay. i’m humoring you starting...

 **[15:29 To: “The Google”]** ...

 **[15:29 To: “The Google”]** now!

 **[15:29 To: “The Google”]** go go go.

**-**

**[15:30 To: Liv <3]** to be fair to those designers, on a wedding night the lingerie doesnt traditionally stay on longer than, like, 2 minutes. max.

**[15:30 From: Liv <3] “Traditionally” **

**[15:30 To: Liv <3]** you got me there.

When it came to putting a solid lunch together, in the construction department, Felix felt, humbly, he could consider himself a fucking champion. Sandwiches? Three seconds. Salads? Just throw it in a bowl, bitch. Ten seconds. Making a goddamn wrap? Well if he hadn’t been stalled in the first place he could have received a gold medal for his finish. His speed. His record setting construction of not only one, but two lunches. Finally, with at least _some_ urgency he finished (sans flavored lube) and began tossing their food into a paper bag.

**[15:30 From: “The Google”] Do I look like a babysitter to you?**

**[15:31 To: “The Google”]** not even a little.

 **[15:31 To: “The Google”]** i’m not even a parent and i’m afraid you’re accidentally toss my child off a 5th floor balcony.

**[15:31 From: “The Google”] Exactly my point.**

**[15:31 To: “The Google”]** oh,

 **[15:32 To: “The Google”]** dear fucking god, who put you in charge of a child?

-

**[15:32 From: Liv <3] I’m not sure how we ended up here, but I hope we can circumnavigate back to what I was originally planning on asking you when I started the conversation. **

**[15:32 To: Liv <3]** you mean you didn’t hit me up just to talk about underwear?

 **[15:32 To: Liv <3]** ouch.

**-**

**[15:33 From: “The Google”] Josie. Josie put me in charge of a child.**

**[15:33 To: “The Google”]** the librarian?

**[15:34 From: “The Google”] The exact one!**

**-**

**[15:34 From: Liv <3] The underwear was the hook. **

**[15:34 To: Liv <3]** you don’t need to appeal to my savage heterosexuality to rope me into a conversation.

 **[15:34 To: Liv <3]** i love talking to you liv.

Which was true. Felix wished, as stupid and wishing and miracles were, that there hadn’t been such a huge schism post-high school- That the three of them, Dorian, Felix, and Livia, had continued to exist thick as thieves- That things hadn’t gotten so _weird_.

He wished, on some obscure star that was barely visible in the late summer sky, that he didn’t have to third-wheel and mediate conversations with two very close friends.

He missed trips to Waffle House at thee in the morning when they were seventeen and lonely. School dances where they would go as a triumvirate or on double dates whenever Felix managed to actually snag a partner.

 **[15:34 To: “The Google”]** why is she bringing her child to work? why does she have a child? why are you, specifically you, in charge of said child?

 **[15:34 To: “The Google”]** i’m late one day, dorian. a single day.

 **[15:34 To: “The Google”]** and you become a father.

-

**[15:34 From: Liv <3] I’m going to be in town in a few weeks and I was wondering if I could claim your guest room for a night. **

**[15:34 From: Liv <3] Or two. **

Felix briefly considered whether or not he would have enough room before realizing that, yes, fucking yes, of course he would have enough room for Liv to crash for a few nights. With a whopping total of four bedrooms, an office or two, and a finished goddamn basement, Felix didn’t exactly live through the typical “Starving-Artist-College-Student-Living-On-A-Prayer” Experience. Having a rich family- Or family member (Read: Father) had it’s benefits. Having enough money to fill an empty pool with $50 bills that Felix could jump into like a caricature of Scrooge McDuck was also beneficial in the whole health department as drugs, prescribed or not, were not exactly being thrown around like mardi-gras beads. While money didn’t buy happiness, it probably bought Felix a few extra years of health and a banging house that allowed him to host his life partner’s ball and fucking chain.

Dorian was in the same boat- Not the Being-Rich-Is-Probably-Keeping-Me-Alive Boat, but a boat just as similar. A yacht. A silver spoon plated yacht with a jewel encrusted wheel and a captain made of pure indifference towards the very concept of student loans.

Dorian, in the most conceptually basic term, had it out the ass. Felix figured the children of politicians were always swimming in money and maybe the common ground of being worth roughly the same as a Picasso was what drew Dorian, Livia, and Felix together during their formative years.

Birds of a feather.

Inseparable through high school. Since before high school. Rich kids doing it for themselves _(As if. As fucking if.)_

They were all probably insufferable, Felix realized, through childhood and adolescence- and adulthood too. Dorian Pavus was a full grown adult who had never once held a job- Not even for curiosity’s sake. Livia had never seen the inside of a Walmart. And Felix had gone “backpacking” across europe every other summer since puberty hit. None of them could even begin to imagine working a minimum wage job and chances were if any of the three were asked exactly what the minimum wage was they would quote “I don’t know. Thirty dollars an hour maybe?” Because that seemed reasonable enough.

So the question of whether or not Felix _could_ host Livia was obvious- But did he want to host her?

 _God_ yes.

More than anything.

Felix wanted that so badly it began to ache in his chest.

 **[15:35 To: Liv <3]** my house? too risque to stay at your finance’s? wouldnt want anyone thinking you were being improper before the wedding.

**[15:35 From: Liv <3] You know trying to ask Dorian would result in a drawn-out, passive aggressive pissing contest that I don’t have enough Vicodin, or wine, or patience to even begin thinking about. **

**[15:35 To: Liv <3]** oh young love.

-

**[15:36 From: “The Google”] The closest thing to being a father I will ever experience is being called daddy.**

**[15:36 From: “The Google”] And I promise that it won’t be by someone I have legal custody over.**

**[15:37 To: “The Google”]** dont,

 **[15:37 To: “The Google”]** dont you fucking dare.

**[15:37 From: “The Google”] I’m kidding.**

**[15:37 From: “The Google”] ...Probably.**

**[15:38 To: “The Google”]** i’m calling the police.

**[15:38 From: “The Google”] Well whatever you’re doing, do it quickly. I’m a half second away from throwing my charge into a bookshelf.**

-

Felix could guess that the actual “Child” was probably closer to an injured bird Josie had found in the library. A caterpillar. A toddler that had somehow wandered onto campus. And Dorian was, as per usual, overreacting at the thought of having any personal responsibilities. If Dorian every secured a job, Felix could say with 90 percent certainty that within the first hour of training would burst into flames. Spontaneous combustion coupled with a stroke. Personal responsibility just wasn’t Dorian’s _thing._

**[15:38 From: “The Google”] Oh Christ, please hurry; I think he’s a Republican.**

The child was a Republican? That was some sort of advanced grasp on politics for something (someone) that still needed to be walked around a library.

Felix began, packed lunches in one hand, phone in the other, to head for the door, picking up his keys from a designated ceramic bowl on the way.

 **[15:39 To: “The Google”]** the kids a republican? how do you even figure that??

-

**[15:39 From: Liv <3] He’d just being an irrational child about the the whole ordeal. **

**[15:39 From: Liv <3] As he is about everything in our relationship.**

**[15:40 To: Liv <3]** you could spare yourself.

 **[15:40 To: Liv <3]** very easily in fact.

Felix stepped into the sun and reveled in the fact that the summer weather was beginning to settle into the lull of a slightly-cooler-than-scalding-autumn. As much as Dorian loved the summer, Felix hated it just as much, if not moreso. It had been brutal this year. Sweaty and humid. God had pissed on the entire state and left it under a heat lamp. But now it was beginning to turn into something that was actually habitable for humans. Pumpkin weather was so close he could practically smell it.

He made a mental note to take Livia to a pumpkin patch when she visited. If it was gourd season at that point. _(Was there a gourd season?)_

Felix’s car was his child. A child he treated rather poorly- That much was obvious as he walked down his driveway. It was a Porsche (Being filthy rich had _a lot_ of benefits) but the back seat was filled with Taco Bell wrappers and mixtapes Dorian had thrown together for various daytrips, road trips, or because he was feeling especially sentimental. There was probably a family of domesticated raccoons, several generations strong, living off the half-empty McFlurries and banana peels in Felix’s back seat. The exterior didn’t look much better, either. How long had it been since he had visited a car wash? A solid year and a half, maybe, if he was being generous. The dead bugs on the windshield and the bird shit were truly pieces of modern art at this point.

Felix opened the driver’s side door, sat down, threw the lunches into the passenger seat, and pulled out his phone. Texting while driving, as Dorian loved to point out, was one of Felix’s lesser flaws _. It didn’t much matter,_ he figured, if it was a car crash that ended up doing _the deed_ instead of a brutal, debilitating illness- Still, Dorian nagged him like an Italian grandmother.

**[15:40 From: “The Google”] Obviously I’m not talking about a literal child.**

**[15:41 From: “The Google”] I’m not heartless enough to mock an infant.**

**[15:41 To: “The Google”]** i very clearly remember you laughing at your goddaughter during her baptism. who was an infant at the time.

**[15:41 From: “The Google”] She started peeing on the Father Radonis! Was I supposed to not laugh?**

**[15:41 To: “The Google”]** no it was pretty funny actually.

 **[15:41 To: “The Google”]** so who the actual hell are you babysitting then?

**[15:41 From: “The Google”] I’ll show you.**

**[15:41 From: “The Google”] [Attached One Photo]**

Dorian sent a photo and for several seconds Felix had trouble comprehending what he was seeing. It was a man that looked old enough to be an experienced professor, crouching down next to a bookshelf. His head was craned to a disturbing seventy degrees and there were stains in the armpits of his shirt. Dorian sent another photo, this time with the man, obviously annoyed, standing up and reaching towards Dorian’s camera.

 **[15:42 To: “The Google”]** youvve never been subtle.

 **[15:42 To: “The Google”]** *you’ve.

 **[15:42 To: “The Google”]** anyway have fun w/ your manchild.

Those pictures deserved an explanation of some sort that Felix was sure Dorian would provide as soon as they sat down for lunch (Or before that, more than likely.) It really was in bad taste to shame professors, but any professors who couldn’t navigate a library without assistance deserved to be shamed.

Felix started the car, not really bothering to check his mirrors as he pulled out of his driveway. He steadied the wheel with one hand and a knee as his phone buzzed in his lap.

**[15:42 From: Liv <3] No. I’m not going to do that. **

**[15:42 From: Liv <3] I still have faith that everything can be as good as it was a few years ago. **

**[15:43 From: Liv <3] Dorian is just frustrated and confused right now. **

**[15:43 To: Liv <3]** is ‘’’’’confused’’’’ really the best term for it?

**[15:43 From: Liv <3] Yes. Probably.**

**[15:43 To: Liv <3]** yikes, liv.

Dorian and Felix had talked about this before- the difference between confusion, experimentation, and frustration when it came to _The Livia Situation-_ during messy nights that were only half remembered thanks to tequila and some carefully architected repression.

“I’m not confused about Livia. Not sexually,” Dorian had said one night two summers ago. They had been swimming in a pool at Gereon Alexius’s summer home- Skinny dipping for no other reason than to say they had. The sun had set and they pulled boxers onto their soaking frames before they laid out across the grass, watermelon vodka on their breath.

“What do you mean?” Felix had slurred.

“She’s always getting on my case.” Dorian had said, batting away a few mosquitos. “ She’s saying I’m just confused and angry and that I’ll come around. That we’ll be a perfect couple. That we _were_ a perfect couple.” Which was slightly _less_ than true. Livia and Dorian had been in a tense quasi-relationship since a very passionate homecoming proposal when they were teenagers. It had dabbled. On. Off. On again. Off again. Engaged. Off again. Engaged, _but with feeling this time_. Passive aggressive emails. Off again. On again. Etc. Etc. Etc.

“What does that have to do with sex?” Felix had asked.

“I don’t really think I’m confused about my sexuality in the same way she thinks I’m confused.”

“So you’re saying you’re just embracing the fact that you only want to stick it do guys?”

“I’m saying that I never want to have sex with Livia Herathimos again in my life.”   

“That’s a shame.”

 **[15:44 From: Liv <3] Identities are always changing. When we met he thought girls were cute. In high school he thought he was bisexual. Then he thought he was gay. Then he thought he was bi again. Now he’s saying he’s gay again. All I’m saying is that he’ll come around, eventually. ** 

-

Felix didn’t bother typing the directions to The Bourgeois Pig into Maps. While it was true that he didn’t frequent the coffee shop as much as Dorian, he had been dragged on enough Saturday Evening Caffeine Runs to know exactly where the metaphorical Promised Land was- Which just happened to be on the edge of campus.

**[15:44 From: “The Google”] I just don’t understand how someone can function in the world without understanding the most basic of classification systems.**

**[15:44 To: “The Google”]** what?

 **[15:44 To: “The Google”]** what are you talking about? like how colors are supposed to be arranged or?

**[15:44 From: “The Google”] I’m talking about call numbers. How does someone not know their way around a library?**

**[15:44 To: “The Google”]** oh god dorian. give him a break. LCC classification isnt the easiest thing to grasp.

**[15:45 From: “The Google”] Pfft ‘Library of  Congress Classification’ Classification?**

**[15:45 To: “The Google”]** god damn u played me like a fiddle.

**[15:45 From: “The Google”] You did this yourself. Payback for the “the google” comment.**

A car behind Felix beeped it’s horn and Felix realized he was sitting at a green light. He slammed on the gas and began his hunt for his cross street.

**[15:46 From: “The Google”] Apparently our man-child here is an undergrad student. The more you know.**

**[15:46 To: “The Google”]** plenty of people dont go to school until they’re ,,,, older.

**[15:46 From: “The Google”] He’s almost thirty. Christ.**

Felix turned onto a familiar street, watching (not so) closely for pedestrians.

 **[14:47 To: “The Google”]** thats going to be you in 6 years you know.

 **[14:47 To: “The Google”]** why’d grandpa wait so long to go to school anyway?

**[14:48 From: “The Google”] How the hell should I know?**

**[14:48 From: “The Google”] Telepathy?**

**[14:48 To: “The Google”]** you are possibly the most belligerent fuck.

 **[14:49 To: “The Google”]** you ask him, dorian.

 **[14:49 To: “The Google”]** you make polite conversation and ask people about their hobbies and dogs and weird latex fetishes

 **[14:49 To: “The Google”]** because thats how you exist as a tolerable human being in the world.

**[14:49 From: “The Google”] $200 says our friends here got tired of working at a gas station most of his adult life and this is a product of a early onset mid-life crisis.**

**[14:49 To: “The Google”]** deal.

It didn’t take long for Felix to reach the Bourgeois Pig. The row of parking spaces outside the door was nearly empty and for a half second Felix was afraid he had been a bit too late and the coffee shop had closed for the day. Most coffee places close around lunch time anyway, right? Who needs an espresso shot at dinner time? Fucking no one.  

He pulled into a parking space and saw movement inside the windows- So it was probably safe to go in.

Felix stepped out of the car, walked to the door and confirmed that, yes, The Pig did not close until 8pm.

Thank goodness.

**[14:52 From: “The Google”] Well,**

**[14:52 From: “The Google”] I’m not a proud man,**

**[14:52 To: “The Google”]** bullshit.

There was one other person in line ahead of Felix but he seemed to be taking his time scanning the _entirety_ of the menu. But it’s not like Felix hadn’t already wasted a good portion of his afternoon anyway.

**[14:53 From: “The Google”] Alright. I am a proud man. You’re right.**

**[14:53 From: “The Google”] But I’m afraid you’ve won our bet.**

**[14:53 To: “The Google”]** excellent. i love taking money from you.

 **[14:54 To: “The Google”]** whats the story? did blondie go through a bad breakup? needed to scrape together all the potential of his youth?

 **[14:54 To: “The Google”]** exchange student on the run from oppressive, filthy commies?

 **[14:54 To: “The Google”]** the latest disguise of the zodiac killer?

The elderly man in front of Felix had finished ordering and counting out his change. He had stepped to the side and Felix was greeted by an impish barista who looked faintly amused, but mostly tired. Her name tag was covered with bees. Not literal bees, that would have been terrifying, but cartoonish stickers that obscured a good portion of her name.

“Yeah?” Was all she said, or grunted, really, as Felix approached her.

“Yeah. Can I get a vanilla machiatto?” Felix asked, tapping a finger against his chin. “With skim milk, please. An extra shot of espresso, some extra soy whip and-”

The barista slammed her hand on the counter, startling Felix into silence. She no longer looked tired. “And you want it sugar free! Am I right? I’m right, aren’t I?”

Felix stared at her for a long moment.

Yes. He did want it sugar free. Or rather, Dorian’s precarious self-image wanted it sugar free. But did she know this was Dorian’s order? Anyone else could have easily had a preference for the same, pretentious, pretentious drink.

“Sugar free.That would be ideal. Yeah.”

“Didya want an ice cube? A single one?”

Alright, she definitely knew this was Dorian’s order. Felix cocked an eyebrow and suddenly realized that this was the barista who had been giving Dorian grief the past several weeks.

He felt proud of her.

“No. I’m not here to tempt fate.” Felix said, watching as she grabbed a paper cup and began scribbling on it was a sharpie. There wasn’t a soul in line behind Felix so Sera took her time, dedicating precious minutes to the piece of art that was going to be hand delivered to her favorite customer. Once she was satisfied she made the drink. No funny business. No deadly teas. Just a vanilla macchiato. Skim. With an extra shot. Extra soy whip. Sugar free.

There wasn’t even a single, solitary ice cube.

The finished product was some of Sera’s best work. She handed Felix the cup and watched as he twisted it in his hands, staring at all the wild markingings and crude drawings. The words _“PRetty BOY”_ were written on the side of the cup in a style more fitting for a ransom note than a somewhat respectable establishment, but it had some kind of odd charm to it. Then there were the scribbled penises covering every other inch of the coffee cup. Some of them had wings. Some of them had handlebar mustaches.Some had googly eyes and incredibly expressive eyebrows. Felix’s favorite doodle, he decided, was a highly detailed sketch of an uncircumcised penis that was wearing a scarf and earmuffs.

“This belongs in the MOMA.” Felix said after a few more moments of admiration, handing Sera a ten dollar bill.

“Ya think?”

“Absolutely. I’d commission you to do a wall of my house up like this, purely for the shit of it. Banksy can lick my ass.”

“Fuck yeah. All the money’s in pricks making political statements on bathroom walls. There's no appreciation for actual pricks. Ya know, like-” The barista mimed jerking off, her tongue poking out of her mouth.

“Sort of?” Felix had no idea where this conversation had gone.

Sera shrugged and held out several dollar bills- Felix’s change.

“Nah. Keep it.”

She didn’t hesitate to follow his suggestion and with a quick “M’a’iaght,” she bent down to shove the bills in her sock.  

She was charming. Well, that probably wasn’t the best word for it, but she was _a presence_. Loud. Loud personality. Loud voice.

-

Felix was back on the road when he realized he had missed a few texts from Dorian.

**[14:55 From: “The Google”] No. Not the Zodiac Killer.**

**[14:55 From: “The Google”] Our friend here is a veteran.**

**[14:55 From: “The Google”] Like intimidating, career-level veteran.**

Felix scoffed and narrowly avoided hitting a car parked on the wrong side of the road.

 **[15:01 To: “The Google”]** do u feel like shit for mocking him?

 **[15:01 To: “The Google”]** like the asshole you are??

**[15:02 From: “The Google”] Marginally. Yes.**

**[15:02 From: “The Google”] Moreso I feel the Fear of God spouting from realization I’ve been openly fucking with a man who could kill me with his pinky fingers and a stern look.**

**[15:02 To: “The Google”]** do you really think he can kill you with just his pinky fingers?

**[15:03 From: “The Google”] Maybe. Looks are deceiving, apparently.**

**[15:03 To: “The Google”]** ask him.

**[15:04 From: “The Google”] I’m not asking him.**

**[15:04 To: “The Google”]** do it dorian.

**[15:05 From: “The Google”] No.**

**[15:05 To: “The Google”]** do it. do it.

**[15:05 From: “The Google”] No.**

**[15:06 To: “The Google”]** please.

**[15:06 From: “The Google”] Fine!**

Felix turned onto the main boulevard of the campus while keeping an eye out for college students darting in front of cars (as they so often did) in an attempt to either avoid an exam, have their tuition paid for, or just end their miserable fucking life.

The practice was relatable but a pain in the ass for motorists.

**[15:07 From: “The Google”] I asked him.**

**[15:07 To: “The Google”]** and?

**[15:07 From: “The Google”] Quote “I wouldn’t kill you with anything unless you gave me reason to.”**

**[15:07 To: “The Google”]** …

 **[15:08 To: “The Google”]** vague.

 **[15:08 To: “The Google]** and somewhat threatening?

**[15:08 From: “The Google”] He didn’t mean it in a threatening way.**

**[15:09 From: “The Google”] I think he was just confused by why I was asking him to kill me using his most useless digits.**

**[15:09 To: “The Google”]** most useless digits?

**[15:09 From: “The Google”] Truly.**

Parking on campus was always some sort of fresh hell and most days Felix had to juggle the possible consequences (read: ticket) that came with parking in the professor and TA lots, or parking a mile away and hiking to the library. Most days he chose the former.

He found the parking lot closest to the single library on campus and began a slow, stunted circle.

**[15:11 From: “The Google”] I think we finally found all of the books.**

**[15:11 From: “The Google”] All three books.**

**[15:11 From: “The Google”] Incredible.**

**[15:11 From: “The Google”] Aren’t undergraduate students required to pick up their texts before the semester starts?**

**[15:12 From: “The Google”] Trick question. I know the answer is ‘yes’ because I’ve been through that hell.**

**[15:12 To: “The Google”]** if I can recall correctly

 **[15:12 To: “The Google”]** which i probably can’t

**[15:12 From: “The Google”] Right. Seems doubtful.**

**[15:12 From: “The Google”] There was that one time you forgot the word for saxophone so you just called it “A Bendy Sex Whistle”**

**[15:12 From: “The Google”] Or that time you called spoons “Small Bowls, But On Sticks”**

**[15:12 From: “The Google”] Or that one time you forgot our airline tickets when we were trying to fly out of Florida…**

**[15:12 From: “The Google”] And we were forced to stay in Florida for another day. Agonizing is what it was.**

**[15:13 To: “The Google”]** florida was a mistake, both as a repeat vacation destination and a concept, but back to the subject. 

**[15:13 To: “The Google”]** i definitely remember you procrastinating on picking up, like, every single one of your books.

 **[15:13 To: “The Google”]** frosh through senior year.  

Felix, realizing the only available spots in the lot were the prime handicap spaces near the entrance opened his glove compartment and pulled out a blue decal. He hung it on his rearview mirror, took it off, stared at it for a second, and hung it back up again.

He had gotten the placard legally and semi-ethically- Dying came with the unfortunate side effect of body parts sometimes forgetting or protesting their function. Some days were better than others. Sometimes his arms would shoot off and fly around the room like a deflating balloon. Sometimes it felt like the only thing holding his organs together was handfuls and handfuls of wet gravel. As of yet Felix had not needed to bust out his “Old-Man Walker” but he figured that would only last another few or so months if he was lucky.

But he didn’t want to think about that.

He didn’t want to think about the fact that in the very near future the bright blue plastic hanging from his rearview mirror might be less optional.

**[15:14 From: “The Google”] Yes, but my ward should have done better than that. He’s practically a grandfather for God’s sake.**

**[15:15 To: “The Google”]** you’re exaggerating.

 **[15:15 To: “The Google”]** also im parked and on my way to you.

Felix grabbed the paper bag and Dorian’s coffee before making his way across the parking lot and up the stairs of the building

“Morning Josie,” Felix smiled, shooting the librarian a quick wave when he stepped inside before turning towards the staircase.

“It’s a quarter after four in the afternoon,” Felix heard her shout as he began to descend towards the basement.

He was headed for the usual spot. Empty table in the basement. Cobwebs. Silence. Probable termite shit. The usual M.O.

And Dorian was not there.

Fantastic.

 **[15:18 To: “The Google”]** where????

 **[15:18 To: “The Google”]** dorian?? you arent at your usual spot.

 **[15:19 To: “The Google”]** holy shit am i having a stroke?

**[15:19 From: “The Google”] On the third floor.**

**[15:19 From: “The Google”] Let me shed this dead weight and I’ll be right down.**

**[15:19 To: “The Google”]** no wait, bring your friend.

**[15:19 From: “The Google”] Not my friend.**

**[15:20 From: “The Google”] Maybe if pigs sprouted wings.**

**[15:20 From: “The Google”] Or the ice caps melted.**

**[15:20 To: “The Google”]** ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ evolution.

 **[15:20 To: “The Google”]** ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ global warming.

 **[15:20 To: “The Google”]** ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ at least try to make more friends you antisocial fuck.

**[15:21 From: “The Google”] No.**

**[15:21 To: “The Google”]** try!

**[15:21 From: “The Google”] No!**

Before Felix had a chance to respond Dorian appeared in the doorway of the stairwell, looking as if he had just been hit by a train and then been shit on by a flock of especially malicious birds. His was missing an earring or two, his notoriously well groomed facial hair was plagued with fly aways, and his usually pressed and buttoned shirt was untucked and wrinkled.

“Toddler,” Felix waved Dorian’s coffee back and forth to grab his attention.

“Excuse me?” Dorian pointed to himself as he approached the table. “Am _I_ the toddler?”

“Yes, obviously.”

“Fuck you.”

“Hey! Be nice to me. I’ve got your coffee.”

“Oh, another hostage.”

Dorian grabbed for the cup and Felix conceded, letting him have it without a fight. Dorian took a seat across from him and started to examine the doodles, looking over each one carefully.

“ _Prettyboy?_ Did you do this?”

“What do you think?” Felix asked.

“I don’t think you have the dedication.”

“You’re right. I don’t. It was your friend. The one with the accent. She recognized your order.”

“Do you think I can get her fired? This is obscene.”

“Let her live, Dorian. She looks fresh out of high school. It’s not her fault there's a pole so far up your ass you can taste it.” Felix opened the paper bag and passed Dorian his tinfoil-wrapped lunch. Dorian dug into it like he hadn’t seen food in weeks.

“So are you going through a vegetarian crisis, or?” Felix asked, unwrapping his food while Dorian’s was already half devoured.

Dorian stopped mid-bite “What?”

“What’s up your ass about bacon? Are you trying to go halal? What is it?”

“Ah yes, because if being gay wasn’t good enough to make my parents completely disown me, I’m sure a full conversion would be the tipping point.”

“Shit. I can’t believe you’re leaving the church.”

“Me neither. Someone really should have told me.”

“Will you let me be one of your witnesses when you convert?”

“Best man in my wedding and witness to my new faith? Do you really think you should have a monopoly on my social life. What about my other friends?”

“What other friends?”

“Excuse you.” Dorian sounded genuinely offended.

“As far as I can count, and I can count really well because, you know, I have a degree for that- There’s me and Gaspard, and Gaspard doesn’t _really_ count because he’s a snake.”

“I have human friends-”

“Your mom doesn’t count either.”

“Fuck you.”

“Name one if you want to keep insulting me.”

“Cullen.”

“Cullen?”

“Yes.”

“Who the fuck is Cullen? Isn’t that the name of some vampire-ghost-pedophile from a YA novel.”

“That was oddly specific. Are you alright?”

“No subject change. Answer the Cullen question. It doesn’t count if he’s a tinder hookup.”

“No. No! He’s the one I was helping with books today. The one who just left.”

“That guy you just met? Who you hated? Who you refused to even consider becoming friends with?”

“Yes, that one.”

“My point stands; You have no friends.”

“That’s entirely false.” It was _not_ entirely false. Not even a little,

Felix flicked a piece of bacon across the table.

“So are you going through a vegetarian crisis?” Felix probed again.

“No. Of course not. The thought of  a sunday morning brunch without prime rib? As much as I pride myself on self-control-”

Felix scoffed.

“Okay, fuck you, as much as I pride myself on self-control, I don’t think I could wax full vegetarian. My heart doesn’t bleed that hard.”

“It bleeds a little heavy.”

“Don’t, don’t make a gross joke.”

“Tampons. Menstruation.”

“Ugh.”

Felix rolled his eyes at Dorian’s disgust. “Anyway, I think my dad joined a cult. Again.”

“Felix, you can’t keep calling the Catholic church a cult.” Dorian said,  finishing the last of his wrap “It’s bad form”

“I thought you hated Catholics.”

“No. You’re mistaking me for the historical Patriarch of Constantinople, again. An easy mix up, I know.” Dorian waved his hand “Even so, no one hates Catholics anymore. Do you know anything about Orthodoxy that you didn’t pull out of some bullshit Gothic novel?”  
  
“I went to a service with you once.”

“That’s right, you did.”

“You kissed a painting on the wall.”

“I know. It was looking at me all sexy-like.”

“I went to your goddaughter's baptism too. We literally just discussed this.”

“Alright! Alright! Still, you can’t go around calling Catholics cultists.”

Felix shrugged, “What else would you call them?”

“I don’t know,” said Dorian, only semi-sarcastic. “People of faith. Pious. Misled, sure, but trying their best.”

“Has anyone ever told you how pretentious you sound.”

“Many people. I lose count, daily.”

“Wow.”  

“Why has Gereon started going to church now?”

“Take a guess.”

“Right. Right. I already know. I figured maybe he could have had more positive motivation than-”

“His last surviving family member dying?”

“Yes…”

“Have you ever known my father to be a positive man?”

“Yes, actually. I remember it... Decently.” Dorian paused. “God, he was such a good tutor. He and your mother both were.”

Felix shot a glance at Dorian and Dorian had enough sense to change the topic immediately away from Felix’s mother.

“I think,” Dorian said, “Maybe you should follow your dad’s lead. Wouldn’t it be a lot more fulfilling to believe in, I don’t know, an afterlife?”

“Nope. I’m a diehard atheist. Hard pass until the day I die.”

Dorian shifted in his seat, obviously uncomfortable. “Can you at least humor me?”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“Sorry I don’t believe in literal fairytales, Dorian.”

“I don’t believe in fairytales.”

“You do a little.”

“Not ones this important.”

“What if you’re wrong?” Felix said, stretching his arms over his head. “What if I’m right, as usual, and everything after this is just void? Just nothing?”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to learn how to raise the dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! Next chapter there is going to be Lavellan! So much Lavellan! He'll talk and everything. There will be conversations where he is a participant even!  
> Now that school has calmed down I hope to update every week to 2 weeks.  
> Some things:  
> -Felix is a mad wicked smart mathematician who graduated with a masters hella early. There was going to be an arc about this but it's taking too long to get to the actual pairing so I'm not going too in depth over Felix's education.  
> -Dorian is not a gold star gay. As it was hinted he and Livia have had sex. It's important to me to write queer characters who didn't figure out their identity straight out of the womb because most queer people in real life are subject to compulsory heterosexuality and go through an transition period where they aren't sure who they're attracted to or what label they should use.  
> -Alexius, in a cult, get it ???  
> 


End file.
